I am sipping coffee out of my favorite mug this morning. What makes it my favorite? Well, the handle is smooth and feels good in my hand even when it is filled to the brim. It is sized to hold the “large” cup setting of the Keurig, so I don’t have to keep returning for a refill. My second favorite, which feels glorious in my hand and is colored in deep earth-tones, will only hold the medium setting. It goes down way too fast. My favorite has an Advent toned blue-purple glaze. It was given to me by my dear friend, Joy, who would notice things like these. She is a poet, keenly aware of the little things that bless our days.
Have I mentioned that my husband Joel is a potter? We have a number of beautiful mugs hand-thrown by him. But I have to say that he has yet to perfect the handle feel of the mug that causes it to feel made for me. I think it is because Joel doesn’t drink coffee in the morning. Or anytime. He is a hot cocoa man and doesn’t seem to develop a personal relatioship with his mug as I do. As a writer, I find that the feel of the morning mug is as important as the feel of the right pen when I begin to do my work.
Yes, I confess, I do not write these posts straight into my laptop. Could this mean I’m not a true blogger? When I want to share some thoughts, I need a good pen in my hand, not the glow of a computer screen in my face. The flow of candle flame though the steam of a piping hot mug of coffee is the lighting that fuels my writing. Although I thank God for them, my happy place has never been in front of a computer. It is at the helm of a good pen and a smooth paged, college-ruled, journal. I once tried to name my laptop to develop a more loving relationship with it. It didn’t work. Perhaps I was born ten or twenty years too early to develop an affectionate connection with digital technology.
But, back to my mug. I do have a warm relationship with it. It is an extension of my relationship with Joy who I seldom see in person. It doesn’t fill the gap, but it does remind me of her love. It tells me that even inanimate objects can have a presence and a voice that can enrich our lives. Included in the relationship of all beings, they speak with their own kind of voices – offering joy, comfort, encouragement, warning, connection. I think of those “decluttering” books that are so the rage now telling us to get rid of anything that doesn’t spark or speak of “joy” to us. Well, what about “comfort”? What about “hope”? And “peace”? “Gratitude”? It’s no wonder so many of us fail the decluttering task, as I have done during this first month of retirement. The things in our homes are often so much more than things when they speak a message we need to hear.
Dwelling in Presence 