Mary's Cup

In the middle of a small annoyance, Nicole Berlucchi ponders how Mary would handle the situation.

Recently, as I settled into bed for some reading, along with a full cup of water, my daughter immediately approached and asked, “Can I have some of your water?”

The question immediately set off an inner groan. We were literally steps from the kitchen where she could get her own cup of water. These kids always want to be drinking my water. My just-filled cup was about to become just-emptied, because I knew that Annie’s request to have a sip would soon be followed by each of her brothers wanting to sip from my water as well, rather than walk to the kitchen and get their own.

The community cup effect I call it. When I pour myself a water or fill my own water bottle, I know the water I am pouring is not only for me but is also for 3 to 5 other people in my house.

I’d been reading about Mary a lot through Advent and so, of course, was trying to make a lesson of it to myself. Why am I so averse to my kids wanting to drink from my cup of water, and how can I think about this differently, like Mary would?

I started with: if I asked Mary to drink from her cup, what would she do? And of course, the obvious answer is: she would willingly let me drink from her cup. In fact, she would likely offer more than I asked for, telling me to drink it all.

null

The beauty of this was thinking about what is in Mary’s cup.

What’s in her cup? The Living Water of Jesus.

The truth is I should want to be like my kids when it comes to Mary, wanting to drink from her cup of Living Water. You know that is Who she is filling up on and Who she will gladly and willingly share with her children.

She isn’t begrudgingly offering me a sip of Living Water only when I ask for it; she is standing before me always, offering: Here, take a drink. Feeling thirsty for love, encouragement, mercy, compassion, peace, hope? Here’s my cup, have a drink. My Son will fill you up.

This idea made me start thinking about how often I ask Mary to drink from her cup, and that I should be asking a lot more often, as often as my kids ask to drink from my cup—not just daily, but multiple times each day. Maybe she’s offering me opportunities to “drink up” more often than I realize, and I need to pay better attention.

I keep close to heart the prayer, “Mary, be a mother to me now” in times I feel under stress, but maybe that prayer should be “Mary, may I drink from your cup today?” or “Mary, help me drink from your cup today rather than from the world’s cup which leaves me thirsty.”

Thankfully, I know her cup is bottomless—or maybe the better word is overflowing, and whatever little sips I might be taking are filling me with much more grace than I can imagine.