April 10, Third Sunday of Easter: John 21:1-19
In a china cabinet in the corner of our dining room sits a coffee mug with a picture of a cardinal on it. The mug is not especially beautiful. Unlike other favorite mugs that nest just so into my cupped hands, this one’s shape is odd and its handle worn thin. If Antiques Roadshow were to stop by for coffee, on a good day they might value the cardinal mug at ten cents, give or take a nickel for the sizable chip along the rim.
Yet this unappealing vessel graces our china cabinet, rather than helping to fill our garbage bin. That’s because the mug holds more than coffee or tea. What steeps in the cardinal mug is story.
It once belonged to my mother-in-law, who treasured it before I did. Before that, it belonged in a set of six cardinal mugs, an incentive for selling wrapping paper or cookie dough or some similarly frivolous school fund-raising product. My husband Mark, then 12 years old, apparently had a knack for sales—or perhaps his big brown eyes and adorable dimples won over potential buyers. In any case, he bested his classmates’ efforts and won the coveted prize.
