The chipped coffee cup

It’s a rarity these days to sip warm (never mind HOT) coffee. And you guys, I’d totally settle for warm. Most days I reheat one cup of coffee 8 times…and still sip very room temperatures coffee. So on the rare occasion, hot coffee hits my lips, it’s usually only if I happen to wake before my three little prince charmings. Occasionally, my husband and I are able to sneak out on our back patio before the rest of our house wakes. We treasure these few moments together, without three little love bugs crawling on us and between us.

So there we sat one morning, just my hubby and me and a coffee cup. It is during these coffee dates on the patio that we usually discuss our plans, dreams, fears, and goals. There I sat, legs pulled up in my chair, with both hands wrapped around my white coffee cup. It was then that I realized I had, yet again, grabbed the one chipped cup in our cabinet. It was a cup I had continuously been drawn to, even after several mental notes to trash it. Something in me couldn’t part with it, and suddenly there was a strange comfort in that damaged cup. The coffee inside still did the trick. It was in staring that this chipped cup that helped me gather my thoughts and find the courage to tell my own story. Holding that chipped, I decided to pursue a long time hobby of writing.

I doubted my abilities and my talent, but my husband didn’t. He handed me another cup of coffee in that chipped cup, and told me “go for it.” And so my writing journey began. Like many times before, he believed in me, even before I believed in myself. He loved me, in spite of my chips on the surface. In fact, he loved me because of them. He saw a spark of excitement in me that I hadn’t even noticed in myself because I was too focused on the flaws-the chips of my abilities as a writer. While I was letting the chips hold me back, he was asking me to use them for good. To be honest in my words of expressing myself. While writing about marriage and motherhood and how both can be messy, and crazy and hard, but also so gratifying and blissfully beautiful all at once.

I realized life is this way. Motherhood is this way. Marriage is this way. We are chipped just like that coffee cup. But these bumps, bruises, and cracks show character. They tell a story. None of us are perfect. If you are, I’m not your kind of people. Just because it’s chipped, or cracked, or bruised, doesn’t mean it’s broken. Good things can still come from it. Lord knows this tired mama of three needs her cup of coffee. And this beautifully flawed cup delivers that yummy goodness day after day.

That chipped coffee cup has become my favorite cup in my cabinet. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s perfectly IMperfect. It was with that chipped cup in hand that some of my most treasured ideas have turned into reality. And it is in spite of my chips, flaws and all, that I have grown to be more appreciative and accepting of how I got to this perfectly flawed place in my life.

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