I grew up in a British household. Without relying too eggregiously on cultural stereotypes, this tells you two things about me. First, I would prefer to insert what most Americans would see as a superfluous “u” into words like “colour” and “honour”. Second, I drink a lot of tea.
And by “a lot” of tea, I mean a lot of tea. I drink it when it’s cold outside and when it’s hot. I drink tea when I’m happy and tea when I’m sad. I drink tea first thing in the morning, and last thing before I go to bed. I’m grieved that one of my husband’s least favorite sounds is the whistle of the tea kettle—because it’s one of my favorites.
Ironically, it’s also one of my new favorites, rather than something that reminds me of my childhood (perhaps a reason why my husband dislikes it so?). In my parents’ household, we had an electric tea kettle. I’m not sure why, as I’m certain that they grew up in the Mother Country with kettles warmed on the stovetop.
It wasn’t until I got married and moved to Colorado Springs that I encountered the delight of a whistling kettle. Previously, my indicate that the water was boiled was a “pop, click” sound, as the kettle automatically turned itself off. These days, the tea kettle summons me from whatever corner of the house I’m in and, unlike most other things in my life (including my husband and the telephone), can rouse me from the depths of a book when almost nothing else can.
To celebrate a new season of life, I decided to purchase a new kettle. While there isn’t anything wrong with our current kettle (its utilitarian aluminum has held up well to almost everything except kitchen grease), it’s time for an Ebenezer in our kitchen. A stone of remembrance—thus far the LORD has brought us. And now it’s time for tea.
In my searching, though, I came across something curious. Stove-top tea kettles are, it seems, moving out of style. Or, at least, they are becoming less popular, pushed aside by their electric counterparts which “save you time” and “get your water boiling more rapidly.”
This discovery made me sad, and felt indicative of the amount of pressure that both I and my directees feel to be more efficient, quicker, more productive on a daily basis. While we may still have time for tea, we have less time than we had before, and we want our water to boil quicker to take up the slack.
Although I can’t say that I always drink my tea mindfully, it is a ritual that breaks me out of my routine and asks me to pay attention. To the whistle of the kettle. To the curl of steam dancing upward from my cup. To the time it takes to steep the bag well before it turns bitter. To the warmth of the porcelain as I cradle it in my hands. To the taste of that first sip. And to the presence of God in it all.
Frankly, I’m not interested in doing that faster, or more efficiently. While there are places in my life that I appreciate technology’s convenience, tea time is not one of them. Instead, I prefer to redeem the time, allowing myself to be present in it, asking that the grace of tea slow me down again, so that I can slow my thoughts, then slow my body, then slow my heart and—finally, finally—be still enough to hear that still small voice whisper His love.
Do I have time for tea? Oh, yes. Yes, I do.