A varieTEA of photos

 Nope, I'm not done making tea puns, apparently. But here are some photos of tea being enjoyed.

I'm a Little Tea Cup

My favorite restaurant is The English Tea Room. It feels fancy, but comfortable. Every reservation is for two hours, and it’s delightful to sit and enjoy the experience without feeling rushed. They have over 260 varieties of teas (varieTEAS?) and, though I’ve been many times, I’ve only sampled a portion of their menu.

At your table you will find a tea cup and teaspoon at each seat and a bowl of white and brown sugar cubes in the center of the table with a tiny, delicate pair of tongs. Your server will ask which tea you want and offer suggestions (which is a relief, because 260 teas is a lot to choose from). Once you’ve decided, they will make your tea and bring it to you piping hot in a small teapot that holds about three tea cups-worth of your selection of tea, along with your choice of milk or cream (I always choose cream).

Every time, it’s a beautiful moment when you pour your tea from your own little teapot into your dainty tea cup, add a sugar cube (or two… or three… I won’t judge) and a spot of cream, then take your first sip. Ah. This is what tea is supposed to be like.

Now I’ll be the first to admit, I can be a bit clumsy. But, oh, when I’m holding that tea cup I try to use gentle, yet strong hands so I won’t spill. I’m holding precious contents, after all. I do love my tea, and I sure don’t want to break the beautiful tea cup. I want to make sure it’s well taken care of and safe.

I, too, am a tea cup. I’m beautifully made. I’m fragile and can be broken. I need to be washed clean, especially on the inside when I get nasty. (nasTEA? Okay, I'll stop now.)

Thankfully, I’m in very capable hands. The Lord’s hands are far more sturdy and stable and dependable than my own. He loves me and He cares for me and He holds me in gentle, loving hands. It is for this reason I can trust Him. Should I fall (away from him) and be broken (by sin), my Maker picks me back up and glues me back together. Sure, you can still see the spots where I was broken, but that is just proof of my testimony. I once was in pieces, but my Savior came to my rescue and restored me.

And now I rest, in His sure hands, a dainty little teacup, with quite a few cracks He’s repaired, overflowing with His joy and Spirit.

Cats

 

My cats are really cute. That's all.

Head to Toe in Gramma's Clothes

 

Here's one thing I'm notorious for: forgetting my hanging clothes. 

I'm genuinely embarrassed by how many times I've gone somewhere only to realize I forgot to grab my hanging clothes. Pretty sure it's happened at least three times since Casey and I have been married and for sure a few times before that too. It's a joke among my friends, "Did you remember your clothes?"

One time I got to Bossier (to visit my family) and was staying for a week and had no clothes. My mom took me shopping and Julianne ran to her mom's house and pulled some clothes from the clothing collection she keeps there and brought them to me so I could be dressed for the week. It was actually kind of fun wearing new/new-to-me clothes all week! 

But here is another fact: my gramma is the most stylish person I know.

I stay with her when I'm in Bossier and often raid her closet. She gives me the clothes she no longer wants. Those are inevitably the clothes I get the most compliments on.

This dress is one of those dresses that she no longer wanted, so she gave it to me. She also gave me the tank top underneath. She let me borrow the shoes (because the ones I brought didn't match), and I found the shades in the bag of stuff she was donating to Goodwill. (I also pulled a dress out of the bag.)

Anyways, this time I was not dressed in her clothes because I forgot mine. Just because she gave me the dress and I liked it and wanted to wear it immediately. 

But if I had forgotten my hanging clothes again, Gramma's closet would have taken care of me.

31

 

Somehow I'm 31 now, which means I'm actually "in my thirties." That's such a weird feeling. People often tell me that I don't look like I'm 30, and I am happy to take that as a compliment. 

The other day I looked in the mirror and noticed forehead wrinkles. I now understand why people get botox. It just needs to be puffed up a little and that wrinkle would be gone! The wrinkles have weirded me out much more than the gray hairs, but I've been finding the occasional gray hair since high school, so maybe that's why. I really hope when I go gray that I get a streak of gray first instead of random white everywhere.

Ultimately, I'm grateful for the opportunity to grow old. There was a time in my life where I couldn't imagine being 35. When I looked at my future, it was so bleak that I didn't even want to be 35. I hoped I could die a tragic, quick (but painless) young death because that seemed better than continuing life as it was and living to be old. 

Thankfully, God stepped in. He did some very unexpected things in my life and got me turned around. I'm not saying life is perfect, but man am I blessed. He got me out of a bad situation and now I can rejoice because I'm not where I once was. 

I'm learning to celebrate more, because, even if I'm blessed enough to grow old, life is still short. So I called my favorite bakery and ordered my favorite cake (strawberry with cream cheese icing) and text some friends and family to come over to my Gramma's to celebrate with me. 

I only had 12 candles on my cake (even though I wanted 31) because I couldn't make myself buy three packages of candles just so I would have enough. Although in hindsight, maybe it would have been worth the $10. (Probably not--it took two tries just to blow out 12.)