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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Some have his and her towels,

or his and her toothpaste,

or his and her pillows.


Here, in the Sanchez home,

we have his and her coffee cups.

And, I do mean cupS.


Not just one for him and one for me.

Nope.

Thirteen for him

and surprisingly enough –

thirteen for me.


(I told you – we have cupS.)


And while some might see thirteen

as an unlucky number,

to me –

several days ago,

thirteen was nothing short of beautiful.


To say our kitchen is tiny

doesn’t even begin to convey

how very tiny it is.


Storage is almost non-existent.

And whenever my husband and I

were both in this little space together,

it always became a kind of two-step,

minus the music.

We would dance our way around each other

as we worked our way around our kitchen.


“So . . .” you ask,

“Where might one keep

thirteen cups for him

and thirteen cups for you

in a kitchen so tiny?”


It’s a fair question.

And, it was a challenge, no doubt.


To help remedy this problem

(because we all know,

when you have a favorite cup –

or in our case,

thirteen favorites each –

getting rid of even one,

isn’t an option),

my husband installed little hooks

underneath the cabinetry

above our kitchen sink area.


Thirteen hooks to be exact.


And, it was on these hooks

that each of his cups proudly hung.


My cups found a home

which was far less than ideal:

stacked on top of each other

in a corner of our kitchen counter,

taking up precious counter space

that was already at a minimum

to begin with.


Ideal or not,

this is how we rolled.

For fifteen years, at least.


Until Sunday.


Dishes done,

I was wiping down the counters

when I spotted my cups.


Then this thought from out of the blue:

I sure wish I could find a place for my cups.


And for a reason I can’t explain,

I turned my eyes upward to the hooks

where my husband’s cups –

all thirteen of them,

hung proudly still – even now,

two years after his passing,

untouched, unused,

collecting dust.


Then this thought

(that my heart could hardly believe

my mind was thinking):

I wonder if there are enough hooks

to house all of your cups?


And even more surprising than this thought,

was the way my heart chose to respond to it.

I guess we could count them and find out.


So, I did.

I counted the hooks.

Thirteen.


Then,

I counted all of my cups.

Thirteen.


Unbelievable!


Then this thought:

Do you think he would mind

if we packed up his cups?

Not to give away.

Just to store away

for a little while.


This time,

my heart responded more in character,

showing its true colors

as tears made their way down my cheeks.


Oh so gently, though, my head persisted.

What are the chances you both had thirteen cups?

It seems like the perfect solution, doesn’t it?

Let’s go to the garage and see if we can find

a perfect box to store his cups in.


And, that’s what I did.


Moments later found me

packing away “his”,

and filling up the hooks

with “hers”.


And in that moment,

thirteen became much more

than a number to me.


It became a precious reminder

of this precious truth:

For everything there is a season,

a time for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born,

and a time to die.

A time to weep,

and a time to laugh.

A time to mourn,

and a time to dance.

A time to gain,

and a time to lose.

A time to keep

and a time to throw away.

He has made everything beautiful in its time.

~Ecclesiastes 3: 1,2,4,6,11 NJKV

“Don’t worry, honey.

You’ll know.

When the time is right,

God will show you,

and you will know.”


Words spoken to me

time and time again

over the past two years.


Words that now

are starting to prove true.


And, I’m coming to realize

there isn’t a “right time”

or a “wrong time”

there is only

“in His time”.


And, if we will only

wait

until it’s time,

then move

when it is time,

the moving will still be hard,

but it will also feel right –

in a way that can’t truly be explained.


And sometimes,

most times, in fact,

we will discover –

what starts out as something

as simple as his and her cups,

when led by the Spirit

and touched by God’s hand,

turns into something

that brings healing and growth,

and a peace that passes all understanding.


And, if we let Him,

God can take all

that appears wrong in the world

(like the number thirteen

and even death itself)

and use it

in a most surprising and unbelievable way

to showcase His

ever-abiding,

never-leaving,

here-with-you-always

presence

and to remind us of His precious love.


And more than a clean kitchen,

and more than free,

open space on my counter,

the blessing that blessed me most that day

was the unmistakable evidence

of a heart

continuing to heal.


All in His timing.