More Than Just Tea

I offered my reflections in print on my friends’ permanent tattoos recently. Researching and interviewing the ladies about body art gleaned another tab in my file of respect and cherished connection with our kind and thoughtful employees at My Cup of Tea. Most of the people I work among have skipped tattoos, and with that choice, the pain and expense as well. They aren’t fretting with permanent ink on their skin.

As long as I can remember, choosing to frame and reflect the “real me” or the “who I want to be” for most Black Women has been associated with grooming hair and styles that originated in African roots. Absolutely on trend now are waist-length colored micro braids.

For health standards, ladies cannot work in the tea production rooms with their elegant coiffures unharnessed.  The employees with the microbraids that number in the hundreds and reach their waist must twist them into a bun and tuck them under our required hair nets. It often takes two. The resulting teetering turban can add several inches to her height.

 Several of our younger employees have arrived with new micros in spring hues this month. “How long did it take?” I query, never asking the cost.  I’m told “Well. Ms. Carey, 8 hours is average.”

The once purely cultural tradition of braiding African hair has become high fashion, and what was once a communal and family practice exercised by mothers, sisters, and grandmothers has exploded into a mainstream art form.

Licensed salon technicians in large cities like Vegas, LA, NYC, and Chicago charge by the hour and offer benefits. Products and hair extensions are additional, expensive, and required.  The benefits might include champagne, a massage, and live music. Research suggests that the installation is often split over two days and totals reach into the thousands.

Meanwhile, on our block, the tradition of the “kitchen beautician” is still the salon of choice, and she is our local answer for hair fashion trending in Orange Mound. The benefits in her boutique far exceed the expensive temporary ones described above. 

Her fee is reasonable and firm, but the local, mostly family, unlicensed psychological counselors and therapists don’t charge for their services here. The social, practical, common sense, and biblical tutoring is offered free and fun by the friends and family who gather around the table while the Kitchen Beautician weaves her magic.

The kitchen provides the obvious friendly space for snacks, the best lighting, easy-to-clean floors for the hair clippings, accessible water for shampoo, and several chairs for the onlookers.  Tradition holds for the culture here, and the kitchen remains the favorite site for the ritual passed down for generations.  The process is deeply social, and it’s rarely just about hair.

Hours spent braiding are filled with conversation, gossip, but most importantly advice-giving.  The techniques, like cornrows, box-braids, and twists, are preserved, while innovative entrepreneurs access TikTok and free step-by-step tutorials. The new instant experts quickly gain respect and customers. The “new do” evolves from a party among friends and can be refreshed or replaced at the next weekend party in the familiar family kitchen, or the one of a best friend on the next block.

The term “kitchen” has a double meaning in Black hair lingo. There are tricky short hairs at the forehead and the nape. A skilled braider “tames the kitchen” with cream to what appears to be calligraphy on the skin.  It is impressive and elegant.

My first impressions led to incorrect conclusions when the microbraids began appearing at The House this year. Beyond curiosity, I was appalled at what the elaborate coifs must cost them.

Once again, I have been reproved and have discovered their choice is virtuous, good stewardship, and time well spent.  The older are teaching the younger family stories, values, and morally weighted lessons. The hair appointment provides one lady to sit still in the center of the ring of friends for hours well spent.

As Jesus told us in John 7:24, we must not “judge by appearance, but judge with right judgment.”

Our employee appears on Monday morning with a strong smile, a proud nod, a kick in her step, and refreshing confidence all day. Every woman I have ever met appreciates a good hair day.

Tattoos are here to stay, quite literally. Today, they are proudly worn by people of all walks of life. Celebrities, models, athletes, and several of the ladies at My Cup of Tea bear visible ones.

                For those with whom I can explore the significance of their permanent body art, I have learned much, and discovered my inquiry is welcomed.  I usually begin with the innocuous and curious query, “Did it hurt, and how much did it cost?” 

Since I love the ladies we employ, and no offence is ever noted, a genuine and personal connection has often deepened. Their tattoos are a permanent diary declaring, “this represents a pivotal moment, a person, a partner, a purpose, a group and/or a point in time that defines me.”

                The decision to get a tattoo for a single mom in Memphis, living in Orange Mound, can often be misunderstood. It’s not a frivolous choice. Changing hair braids, boots, and stick-on nails go with the flow of fashion and give brief and fresh visibility. However, the ladies have control of very few durable things that are primary to their health and well-being.

Housing, income, transportation, and systemic circumstances are unreliable.  “My body is mine,” a tattoo declares to all. “Here are my visual markers, identity, and testament.” Reclaiming ownership inked with symbols, the message shouts, “I belong to this, and this belongs to me.”  It’s a choice for a lifetime funded with emotional currency.

                One of my best friends in Orange Mound has a cross on the inside of his wrist. He reminds himself, “This is to Whom I belong.”  One of the ladies in the tea company has “Josiah” written on her forehead, conveying to all of us, “This baby boy is always on my mind.”  For my friends, a tattoo is a strategic, intentional identity, and permanent. It’s an act asserting their own stories where struggles and trials are etched on their souls.

                This is the Season of Lent, commemorated by many Christians, and for forty days we examine the life and teachings of Jesus, leading to His crucifixion and resurrection on Easter Sunday.

The disciple John, in His Gospel (John 20: 24-29), testifies that after Jesus’ death at Calvary, His disciples convened sharing the terrifying dilemma of their own identity, fearing His fate would soon be their own.  Resurrected, Jesus Christ lovingly met them where they gathered in hiding. He  compassionately offered them the proof of His finished work on their behalf.  The Messiah, King, and Savior conveyed through the permanent scars of nail wounds on His hands that He had risen, indeed; death had no hold on Him, and to them He had returned, and to Him they belonged. 

The nail marks on His hands and feet declared the undeniable truth that He had died on the Roman cross, was buried in a cold tomb, and on the third day had returned to them to declare His life and for them a new birth was available.

His “tattoo” was excruciating in pain, infinite in cost, and received with love and devotion indescribable.  The scars said, “A pivotal moment has come, and a Person has revealed His purpose for all to see and believe. You belong to Me.”

Two thousand years later, this reality transcends mere chronology, and to Him many more belong.  The tattoo is not marked on our thin skin but emblazoned on our heart, permanently and eternally. Christ’s influence and power are not marks of ink or scars, but ones of transformation. 

Article II, Section 3 of the U.S. Constitution says the president is required to

…from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.

On February 24^th, President Trump met that requirement in a speech before a joint session of Congress. Such a televised gathering has become the tradition of our nation in modern times. Filled with pomp and circumstance, and in recent decades, rancor, the President tries his best to convince the American people that the nation is on the right track.

After nearly 15 years in the Orange Mound community, in one capacity or another, we wondered. “What is the state of our union at My Cup of Tea?”

Truth is, like the state of the nation in any given year, there is good and bad.

The Bad

Our employee complement increased to 17 at one point last year, but a combination of normal attrition after the holiday season and a few who could not resist the allure of their old ways has reduced our number to 10. Our desire is to help as many Orange Mound women as we can within our budgetary parameters, so losing anyone who may still need the wages and the safety we provide is disappointing, to say the least.

Last week, for the first time in six years, we increased the price of our tea products. We resisted the pull on inflationary pressures when they were at their worst, but we could not hold out any longer. For now, the increase is modest and only applies to our teas, but we are praying our customers remain committed to the product and the mission.

In the past three years, donations to My Cup of Tea have declined each year. We know some of the drop-offs are attributable to higher prices in many sectors and heavy competition from other worthwhile organizations for finite resources. Still, donations account for one and a half times more of our revenue than the sale of tea products. This is where we state the obligatory reminder that you can donate online or join our monthly giving club, The Blend, if you are so inclined.

The Good

The ladies who remain with us are dedicated and hardworking. Two newer employees are learning administrative and management functions, so one day they can be elevated to roles with more responsibility and opportunity, either inside My Cup of Tea or at a full-time position elsewhere. And a prodigal daughter of sorts has returned to our fold.

Twenty-twenty-five was the final year of our three-year strategic plan. Later this month, our entire board will gather with a brilliant facilitator to craft a new plan for the coming years. This group includes new board members, Howard Eddings, Lucy Wepfer, Frannie Hillyer, and Ephie Johnson – all longtime supporters of My Cup of Tea and dedicated leaders in our community.

Later this month, our Libertea box commemorating the 250^th anniversary of the nation will be on sale in the gift shop of the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. In addition to the many locations around town that stock our boxed and iced teas, you can savor a cup in restaurants like Sunrise and the Lobbyist. And while donations have been down, sales of tea increased by about 13%.

Most importantly, the desire by the ladies, their mentors, the staff, and volunteers to study God’s word together, pray for each other, and bear one another’s burdens remains sturdy and unshakeable.

Much like our country, when things seem dark and chaotic, we can identify many more blessings than curses. Daily, at The House, we witness God’s work in our lives and the truth that He cares for us. So, we take comfort in knowing that the state of our union at My Cup of Tea is on Rock-solid ground, and that,

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. – James 1:17