do you take dirt in your tea, miss?

I had never felt so much like a queen!

The little Palestinian girls at the orphanage in Bethany had grabbed me by the arm and, with giddy smiles and giggles, lead me eagerly; quickly ducking beneath the olive trees in the garden we ran to a small ragged table beside the orphanage, a dulled-white building to match the rest of this Arab village.

The girls' eyes shone with secret excitement as they sat me down in a too-small chair and busily set about preparing the tea. One little girl, Russia, smiled with gentle hospitality as she delicately broke the rough twigs into bite-size pieces (special chocolates, she explained), her dark curls bouncing in the warm, dusty breeze. There was another girl who stood taller with short black hair, big hazel eyes and an affectionate grin. She spread the table with a tattered rug and, flashing her smile, offered me a broken pottery filled with dirt (the sugar, she insisted!). I accepted happily as the other little girls skipped around with curious, mischievous faces and gave sweet tokens of friendship (a plastic cup filled with small dusty rocks, carefully torn olive leaves, a small cracked plate to eat it on, tiny pink pink flowers to tuck behind my ear and into my pocket, a precious smile). I told them I had never had such a lovely tea party, or such a delicious cup of tea!

The tea party didn't last long, as the other little girls tugged at my arm and beckoned me to follow, but as we laughed and talked (more with our eyes and smiles than with words) and sipped dirt tea with mint beneath the lowering sun, I knew I would never forget that tea party! And my heart broke for these little girls who had no family- or if they did, a miserably broken family marked with darkness and abuse- and yet who were so full of life, their little hands so quick to serve and their little hearts so fast to love. And I prayed that amid the darkness that lies in their future God would somehow preserve these moments of peace; that they would always know the peace that is Christ; and that he would bless them. That even when the sun is setting they would always have a hope to cling to- that even in the night they would have a morning to look forward to.

"Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!"

-Emily Dickenson