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Tea

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I remember with much affection my first taste of warm, amber-colored, honey-infused tea. It is as ingrained into my heart as my first kiss. It wasn't so much the tea, I don't think, as it was the memories attached to it.
I was about 20 years old and dating one of my friends from high school. Since my own family was going through some turmoil at the time, I spent as many hours as I could at his parent's house, where his family accepted me as one of their own. On Friday evenings, the whole family would gather at the dining room table for cards and board games. And I was invited to a place at that table, that table filled with laughter and hugs and heartfelt words of encouragement.  I felt for the first time in a while, like a child, following the smell of platefuls of fresh molasses cookies as they were passed around the table. And I felt, for the first time, like a grown-up, as I was handed a delicate china teacup to drink from. 
But mostly I felt loved and included. I felt important, that I was seen and heard, and yet free, that I was expected to do nothing more than just be myself. These were all new feelings for me. I drank them up as deeply and as copiously as that almond tea. 
These memories still follow me. Years later, brewing a cup of tea has become a small but practical way to remind myself of what's truly important: making room for others, listening, encouraging, and enjoying their presence--being fully and wonderfully in the moment with the person next to me. 

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