My Cup Overflows

If I were to express that, it’d be, “My cup runneth over,” the King James Version of Psalm 23, which I memorized as a little girl, and still could recite without blinking today, decades later.

Yesterday, one very important celebration in my life happened after a two-year hiatus because of Covid-19:  the 47th anniversary of our home church (my family shares 45 of those years), with the theme, “My Cup Overflows."   

I should be shouting with joy over its success. But why do I weep? 

Because “my cup runneth over.” 

Our Sunday School was where my children grew up, imbibing the values my husband and I echoed at home. Now my youngest son chairs the board, empowered by an excellent, hard-working team composed of his VBS classmates years ago. He makes me toe the line when age gives unsolicited advice, and assigns me jobs, such as handling the Women’s Sunday School, when we lost our teacher. 

Through 45 years, we hurdled a succession of church workers, the comings and goings of members, and the many other hiccups that threw us into a tailspin—but God keeps filling our cup. 

While watching the children perform an action praise song, I saw on their faces my sons’ and their friends’. The Pillar of Praise, spirited youngsters all, kept us singing our hearts out.  Angels from above sang "Overflow" with the euphonious PVGC ensemble.    

Beautiful flowers filling the sanctuary, arranged by the women the day before, bloomed with God’s multi-colored grace. The physical arrangement was impeccably done by the men.  And the church’s musical instruments, screens, video equipment, and other technical doodads, installed by the youth, enabled everyone to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” 

Inside, God’s church was packed to the rafters!  Outside, the yard, kitchen, rooms, and offices, were areas of celebration.   

All of these—from 45 years ago, when we first set foot inside a small, dingy bodega that has  metamorphosed into this church structure—were nothing but prayers. 

“My cup runneth over.” 

Then our guest preacher, the first pastor who shepherded my family 45 years ago, declared in a strong voice that belied his cancer-abused body on its 5th punishing year, asked, “When our cup runs over, what do we do with the overflow?” 

Tears blur my eyes. Let me continue when my sight clears up . . .

Photo credits: borrowed from posts of PVGC brethren on the PVGC FB page. Thank you all.