Paper cups

I ran out of cone filters for my coffee machine, so I took one of the big wrap around squares for the percolator and folded it into a paper cup. I remember when I learned how to fold origami paper cups.

It was Sunday school, third grade I think. One of my friends had learned it in school and taught us. I remember this day not for coloring the inside of my cup, but for what happened after church.

There was a boy, who came to church that day, who we thought was strange, and dirty, and dressed funny. He didn’t belong. I didn’t belong either; I was the pastor’s kid fighting for acceptance after three years in the church. I treated this boy, coloring his cup, with an arrogant cruelty.

After the service my brother and I fought over who had to sit with him in the back seat. We didn’t hide our distain for this boy as we rode over dirt and tracks and miles of ground to a shack in the country.

Often I have looked back on this day, my heart torn apart. In every way this innocent boy was me and I hated him.

Today, it strikes me that dad must have been painfully disappointed in us that day. I would be disappointed if my kids acted like we did.

Before making my coffee this afternoon, I had my first meeting with my Spiritual Director. As he acted a Zozama and mirror to my soul, I found myself struggling with guilt and duty. Am I doing all that I should be as pastor? Am I living up to the great responsibility that I feel? How does my father feel about me today?

Lord I will listen for you. Are you proud or disappointed? Will you come to my aid?