More Than Just Tea

GenXers will remember the peak of John Mellencamp’s music career in the early 1980s. In 1983, Mellencamp wrote and released what has become a classic American anthem called “Pink Houses.” The song rose to number 8 on the Billboard Hot100 chart and became a beloved Heartland Rock song played at political rallies by both Democrats and Republicans.

The song was inspired by a trip on I-65 through Indianapolis. Mellencamp passed by a Black man sitting on the front porch of his pink house. He was holding a black cat and watching the traffic whiz by his front yard. The first verse recalls those brief seconds:

There’s a Black man with a black cat

Living in a Black neighborhood

He’s got an interstate running through his front yard

Ya, know he thinks he’s got it so good.

When the song reaches the chorus, Mellencamp belts out the peppy lines:

But ain’t that America for you and me

Ain’t that America

Something to see, baby

Ain’t that America

Home of the free

Little pink houses for you and me

Except, the words are sarcastic and cynical. Mellencamp is saying that the American Dream is inaccessible to the poor and the working man. We’re told that we all can obtain our metaphorical “pink house,” but so many fail to realize it.

Orange Mound was once an example of the American Dream, as we have told you in the past. It is the oldest community in the nation built by and for African Americans. The first landowners and homeowners in Orange Mound were only a generation or less removed from slavery. The community thrived despite Jim Crow and segregation. African Americans owned thriving businesses, and many achieved middle income.

One hundred thirty-six years later, Orange Mound is not the same. Few would describe it as their American Dream. The decline began in earnest in the 1980s and 1990s with drugs, gangs, and a loss of good-paying jobs – about the time Mellencamp released his classic. However, there were and are many communities in Memphis and around the country which have never achieved the success Orange Mound once did.

Is it possible for Orange Mound to be a beacon of the American Dream again?

We believe it is.

Whatever one believes about American Exceptionalism, a much-debated topic today, it is undeniable that our nation’s people across generations exude resilience. As a nation, we not only survived the darkest days in our history—the Civil War—we became better for it. We fought World War I, which was supposed to be the war to end all wars, and lost 116,000 soldiers. We survived the Great Depression and fought World War II, losing 419,000 Americans. Vietnam and the fight for civil rights deeply divided our country even beyond the profound polarization we see today. We overcame these challenges, and in many cases, thrived beyond them.

We have seen American resilience in the lives and actions of the My Cup of Tea ladies over the last decade and a half. We also see it in many of our neighbors who joined Neighborhood Watch, support the community’s anchor, Melrose High, maintain their properties, and demonstrate “staying power” when others tell them it is time to leave. We see resilience in our many community partners, some who have been in the community longer than us – partners like Neighborhood Christian Center, RedZone Ministries, Christ Community Health, JUICE Orange Mound, and more.

July 4^th this year is the semiquincentennial (250th anniversary) of the founding of America. Some of our fellow Americans are not in the mood to celebrate because for many times are hard right now. But we can all be grateful for one of the defining characteristics of Americans – resilience.

To mark the occasion, we issue a limited-edition tea that we call Libertea. On the front of the box, we feature six very different, consequential women of the American Revolution whose resilience is on full display in their stories. Martha Washington spent time in the camps of the soldiers, treating their wounds. Abigail Adams was a fierce abolitionist and counseled her husband on matters of policy. Esther Reed wrote political essays at a time when women didn’t and urged citizens to sacrifice financially for the troops. Elizabeth “Mum Bett” Freeman took liberty seriously and was the first African American woman to successfully file a lawsuit for her freedom. Deborah Samson believed in the promise of our nation so much that she disguised herself as a man and fought in the Continental Army. Phyllis Wheatley published the first book of poems by an African American and rallied colonists with her themes of freedom for all.

Like the women featured on our commemorative box, some of the paths to our American Dream will be fraught with obstacles and disappointments. Getting there will be harder than it should be, but it’s not impossible; and the journey is worth the final destination.

At My Cup of Tea, we continue to pray that our gray house with the maroon shutters will be a portal for Orange Mound women to realize their “pink houses.”

A kind supporter and friend of our ministry asked me, as we enjoyed a light lunch just last week, if I had seen change for the better in Orange Mound over the past fifteen years.

 In reality, the change is slow, but the change in me has been absolutely for the better.

 Quite astonishing to most of our supporters and customers is  that there is a distinguishable gap between our collective vision for our beloved women in Orange Mound and their own readiness for change. I have often been in conversation with others in similar missions to the poor, who agree and recognize a similar weight in their lived experience. My hope, disappointment, faith, and the raw clarity of reality among the women we work with in Orange Mound daily occupy my prayers, time, and resources.  I am passionate, and I love this job.

The gap my peers and I share is not a failure of our love, efforts, or calling.  I frequently consider that  Jesus Himself faced the same in His three years of ministry in Galilee.  He walked among people who saw miracles, heard truth, and still chose their own way.  He did not stop loving them or walking with them. Nor do we.

Cheryl daily tells every new customer that “My Cup of Tea brings women out of poverty into a new posture of stability, strength, and hope”.

            Measuring that type of success has not been a priority for we are working among many layers of need with our friends here. Accruing stories of crossing women over into stability is qualitative, not quantitative. More importantly and of more consequence, we have been present in their instability. 

We have been a constant of encouragement, consistency, mercy, and Truth sharing.  Many negative voices repeatedly tell our ladies, “You can’t make it,” as well as “Just get by.”  We who are in their favor at My Cup of Tea, never weary of sowing seed of promise and hope, all the while knowing  we must continue in prayer to see them bear fruit. We are  in the cloud of witnesses with unwavering commitment. The volunteers we call Sisters are the cup holders, advocates, mothers,  teachers, friends, and fairy godmothers for all who  are willing to invite us in.

                Another missionary in Orange Mound, Linda Gilbert, often says, “Walking in each other’s shoes brings mercy and respect.” Walking in their shoes has given us a rare perspective. We are not looking at our ladies from a distance. We are walking in cadence side by side with all.  We celebrate their birthdays, we know their children’s names and grades; we know their debts, their bruises, their pregnancies, their firings, their aches, their medications, their unreliable cars, which we have named, and we know their fears. We have been to their houses, and we have advocated for change.  “Knowing” is the mission work.  There is no judging them; we are grieving with them.

                Occasionally, the only request of us is dollars to finish another day. We can easily slip into lament, for many of our deeper offerings are rejected.  I believe their financial hardships crack a vulnerable portal called ‘humility.’  She who asks for a loan is really saying, "I may not yet trust you with my soul, but I trust you with my embarrassment, and in truth, my survival."  We have walked through many harder doors with them, but debt is the most difficult because it signifies failure to them.

I’m often asked why I chose Orange Mound to begin our ministry for women.  Succinctly, I chose to follow Jesus, and He led me to the corner of  Carnes and Semmes, where He was already living.  He has not paved the street or smoothed the paths, but He has walked every step on the broken sidewalks with us, His kind voice:” Walk this way”, keeps us alert and refreshed, and  silences the request for a finish line.   That voice is the motivation, not the outcomes of our efforts.

The hardest part of the mission, especially in sharing the Gospel, is helping our ladies move from blaming circumstances or others for the mess they are in. Their part in their disquieting circumstances most often is the result of an immoral choice.  We have created a space where confession is safe and not shamed.  Jesus did.  He did not force repentance but was a safe place where it could and still can be encouragingly received.

 I spoke recently to a small group and used the word ‘renaissance ‘in view of Orange Mound.  It sounded inspiring, but has resounded in my ear as misinformed ever since. Without homeowners, there is no dedication to repair the brokenness that is still in view on every block.  We are committed to assisting in the courageous leap over the gap  to own a first home.

The renaissance is slowly happening quietly in the relationships between our disparate cultures.  Two of our abused women, victims of domestic violence,   came to work bearing their broken hearts and bruises last week, trusting us to pray for them and provide support.  Two of our ladies are faithfully paying back loans with each paycheck, in cash. 

Another renaissance is  evident in the hearts of our volunteers who have stayed when there has been no applause.  They  have learned the cost of following Jesus includes going into the dark alleys and hard places.  They have shown up and they have stayed.

 He who summoned us all with “Follow Me" is walking with us. His metrics are not in miles walked; His measurements are not in lives changed, but His recompense is crowns for those who have faithfully kept the pace.

We often have stimulating guests for lunch, but last week, a friend of mine brought warm insights instead of advice and ideas for change and motivation. 

Aaron Lewis--tall, dark, and handsome--drew immediate attention among our ladies when he entered our hallway.  He was dazzled, as most are, by the elegant décor and the warm friendliness that surpassed his expectations. Supper in the oven and the aroma of chicken and dumplings tempted his appetite and officially erased his next appointment for a business lunch. He complimented the cook for the day, was open for a tour of the House, purchased tea for his mom, and rejoined the women more eager than usual to lengthen the lunch hour.

Lewis, with his father and uncle, has weekly mentored a misunderstood slice of society, who are incarcerated, with few visitors and fewer plans for redemption. The Lewis men have entered the “Inside Circle” and for three years they have been approved for ministry in weekly sessions among willing inmates at  201 Poplar.  After perfunctory scanning, frisking, and pictures, they proceed to the part of the jail where the public is barred and the conditions are brutal. They sit in a large room with armed guards in an open forum among men awaiting trial and open to a respite from their cells. 

The Lewis men, model the male leadership, kindness, and mercy that have been missing in our community and many others over the last several generations.  Roughly 70-80% of incarcerated men, according to the Prison Policy Initiative, have been fatherless children.

                Incarceration, unfortunately, is not an uncommon experience for our crew of ladies at The House.  Many of them have served time, visited family in prison, or both. Therefore, familiar, far more than I, the ladies asked good questions, which he welcomed. They wanted more information as to success, recidivism, and dangers. He shared the statistics and held them spellbound, believing and admiring. Then he winsomely requested to ask a question.

                  His query, “Would you tell me something that makes you happy,” landed on the heart of each lady.  There was none unwilling to speak, and some often noted for little to say, gave us much.  We were past the time for quitting, but all remained at the table to speak her turn.

Summarily, though expressed with many colorful examples and reasons, the response was “My family makes me happy.”

That surprised me and was not my personal response to his question when my turn at the table arrived.

Though ‘family ‘is core and constant across every generation and location since the dawn of time, the ways my family is shaped by inherited dependence and identity don’t align with the pattern shared among our ladies at My Cup of Tea.

I watch it here with respect and am reminded of the stories of my grandmothers who were widows after WW II and tended to and were assisted by my parents who lived nearby them and helped with the family work.  Time marked in decades has redefined the role of family in my own experience as well as among my peers.

Within Orange Mound and other demographically similar communities, ‘Family’ is kinship-based, and though defined loosely, the primary pillar of security.  It is fluid, resilient, and elastic in the network.  It includes blood relatives, half-siblings, “play-cousins”, neighbors, baby mommas, baby daddies, their children from other relationships, and many aunties. There is a loyalty to all, a turn of the cheek, and forgiveness for almost anything in time.

  Many referred to as “Cuz” are expected to provide, when asked,  a safety net for survival through the ubiquitous dips in life including: bail money, childcare, emotional support, money for funerals and burials, a safe home away from home, though the porch light is broken, free car mechanics and transportation, and bed side support in the hospital. However, most valued and expected is a code of silence, especially including no cooperation with law enforcements.

Except for the latter just mentioned, many churches in our city accept this responsibility and welcome all of us in need to join their fellowships, become members, and bring their needs into the community of Christ followers.  Debbie and I point to the opportunities around the corner of 3028 Carnes.  I’m told the minimum number of churches within reach are 50, but I haven’t done a manual count. Some have said as many as 150.

With introspection, assurance, and gratitude, I claim my church and fellow believers across the world as my family, my safe house, and my safety net. It is a hospital for the needy.  My sisters and brothers there, though not blood, share God as our Father and our future home.

I am determined to lead others, through God’s irresistible love, to recognize Him as The One Eternal Father, Creator, and Sustainer.  I pray daily that my friends will commit to a church.  There, they will discover a family that does what some blood relatives cannot or fail to do: carry their troubles, share their wisdom, and love them unconditionally as sisters with the one true Father.

The Father never slumbers, never abandons, never rushes, never ignores, while owning and ruling over everything we know or can imagine, He graciously welcomes her in, knows her name, and has a plan and a purpose for her best life imaginable.