Life gets messy. Sometimes, it overflows.
Most people look at a spilled cup of coffee and see a stain on the rug or a ruined morning. But there is this old, gritty piece of folk wisdom—often packaged as a poem or a song—that flips the script. It’s the idea of drinking from my saucer. It sounds a bit outdated, doesn't it? Maybe something your grandmother would say while staring out the kitchen window at a birdfeeder. But honestly, the psychology behind it is fascinating. It isn’t about bad manners. It’s about having so much that your "cup" can't even hold the goodness anymore.
The phrase is most famously tied to the poem "Drinking From My Saucer" by John Paul Moore. You’ve probably seen it on a dusty plaque in a Hallmark store or shared in a Facebook group with a background of a sunset. Despite its sentimental reputation, the core message is surprisingly robust. It deals with the human tendency to focus on what’s missing rather than what’s literally spilling over the sides of our lives.
What it actually means to be drinking from my saucer
In the old days, people actually did this. It wasn’t just a metaphor. If your tea was too hot, you’d pour a bit into the deep saucer to let it cool faster. Surface area and physics, basically. But the poem transforms this into a spiritual or emotional status.
When you say you’re drinking from my saucer, you are acknowledging that your blessings have exceeded your capacity. You aren't just "full." You are overwhelmed in the best possible way. It’s a radical shift from the "scarcity mindset" that dominates our 24-hour news cycles and social media feeds. We are constantly told we need a bigger cup, a more expensive cup, or perhaps a cup made of recycled titanium. Moore’s poem suggests that if you stop complaining about the heat or the size of the vessel, you’ll realize the table is already covered in what you need.
It's about the overflow.
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John Paul Moore was a real person, a poet who captured a specific brand of mid-century American gratitude. He wasn't some corporate motivational speaker. He was writing for people who knew what hard work felt like. When he wrote about his "cup running over," he was directly referencing Psalm 23:5 from the Bible. That's the heavy hitter in terms of origin. "My cup runneth over." It’s the idea that God—or the universe, or luck—has provided more than a single person can contain.
Why the metaphor still sticks in 2026
We live in an era of "more." More notifications. More subscriptions. More expectations. Yet, ironically, many of us feel emptier than ever. The concept of drinking from my saucer acts as a psychological circuit breaker. It forces a pause.
Think about the last time you felt truly content. It probably wasn't when you finally bought that thing you saw in a targeted ad. It was likely a small moment—a kid laughing, a quiet morning, a decent cup of coffee that didn't cost seven dollars. Those are the saucer moments. They are the "extra" things we often ignore because we’re too busy staring at the bottom of the cup, worried about when it’ll be empty.
Psychologists often talk about "hedonic adaptation." That’s the fancy way of saying we get used to good things really fast. You get a raise, and three months later, that new salary feels like the bare minimum. You buy a house, and suddenly you’re annoyed that the guest bathroom tiles are the wrong shade of eggshell. Drinking from my saucer is the literal opposite of hedonic adaptation. It’s the practice of noticing the overflow before it evaporates.
The Michael Combs Connection
You can't talk about this phrase without mentioning Michael Combs. He’s a singer-songwriter in the Southern Gospel world who took Moore's words and turned them into a massive hit within that niche. If you go to a small-town church in the South or Midwest, people don't just know the poem; they know the melody.
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Combs’ version adds a layer of grit. He often talks about his own struggles with health and life before performing the song. It gives the words weight. It’s easy to talk about drinking from a saucer when you’re sitting in a mansion. It’s a lot harder—and more meaningful—when you’re dealing with real-world problems. The song resonated because it didn't feel fake. It felt like a guy who had been through the wringer and decided that, despite the bruises, he was still doing okay.
Common Misconceptions
People get this wrong all the time. They think it's a "toxic positivity" thing. You know, that annoying "just smile and everything will be fine" attitude that ignores actual suffering. But that’s not it.
- It’s not about ignoring pain. The poem actually mentions "dark clouds" and "storms." It acknowledges that life can be brutal.
- It’s not about being lazy. It’s not an excuse to stop striving. It’s a way to fuel the journey by appreciating the fuel you already have.
- It’s not just for religious people. While the roots are in the Psalms, the secular application is just as strong. It’s essentially "Gratitude 1.0."
How to actually apply this without being cheesy
Honestly, most of us are terrible at gratitude. We do the "three things I’m thankful for" journal for two days and then forget about it. Drinking from my saucer is a different mental model. It’s about the "extra."
Look for the things in your life that you didn't strictly "need" but got anyway. You needed a job; you got a coworker who makes you laugh. You needed a car; you got one with a radio that plays your favorite song right when you turn the key. That coworker and that song? That’s the saucer stuff.
When you start looking for the overflow, your perspective shifts. You stop being a person who is "lacking" and start being a person who is "spilling." It sounds like a small distinction. It’s not. It changes how you treat people. A person with an overflowing cup is usually more generous than a person staring at a half-empty mug.
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The Cultural Shift
We’re seeing a weird resurgence in these types of old-school sentiments. Maybe it’s a reaction to the digital exhaustion we all feel. There’s something grounding about a metaphor involving a physical object like a ceramic saucer. It’s tactile. It’s slow.
In a world of "optimization" and "efficiency," drinking from my saucer is gloriously inefficient. You shouldn't even have a saucer if you're "optimizing." You should have a spill-proof, vacuum-insulated tumbler with a straw so you can hydrate while responding to emails. But the saucer implies a seat. It implies a table. It implies a moment where you are not moving.
Actionable Steps to Finding Your "Saucer"
Stop looking for the big wins for a second. They’re rare and they don't last. Instead, try this:
- Identify the "And Then Some." Next time something goes right, look for the tiny extra benefit you didn't ask for. That’s your saucer.
- Acknowledge the Heat. Remember why people used saucers—to cool things down. When life feels "too hot" or overwhelming, use your gratitude as a way to spread out the stress and let it cool.
- Share the Overflow. If your saucer is full, give some away. Gratitude is one of the few things that actually multiplies when you share it.
- Watch the Language. Replace "I have to" with "I get to." It’s the oldest trick in the book, but it works because it refocuses you on the privilege of the task.
Life is never going to be perfect. The cup will have cracks. Sometimes the tea is bitter. But if you look closely at the table, you might find that you’ve been drinking from my saucer for a lot longer than you realized.
Start by noticing one "overflow" item today. Maybe it’s just a green light when you’re running late or a text from a friend you haven't talked to in years. Don't just dismiss it. Recognize it as the extra bit that makes the whole thing worth it. Own the overflow.