"My cup runneth over."— King David, Psalm 23.
Photo by gürkan midyaton Pexels
Cheers, we say, lifting a glass. Such a small word for what we actually mean by it — for this moment, this gathering, for being here with you, seeing you, sharing this instead of nothing.
That may be the honest shape of a full life: not one enormous triumph, but enough small moments that we keep finding reasons to lift a glass again. Filling the cup, then filling it again.
Some gatherings pour a different drink. A diagnosis. An accident. A funeral. We come together for those too, and no one calls it a toast, because it doesn't fill anything. It takes.
David knew both. In the same breath as walking through the valley of the shadow of death, he wrote of his cup running over — one line after the other, no contradiction between them.
Maybe that's the real version of a full life:
not the absence of the sour drink,
but an abundance that outlasts it anyway.
What are you doing now, so that someday,
someone can say your cup ran over?
As an Amazon Associate, Words That Stay earns from qualifying purchases.
If this resonated, you might also enjoy: Elizabeth Bishop, "On Loss" and Louis de Bernières, "On Love"