Sunday after church I decided to make a batch of cookies.
I got the butter whipping and opened the pantry for the brown sugar. There was none.
So I tried to think of what else I could make with a cup of whipped butter.
Chocolate cake!
My plan in place, I grabbed a new recipe (why, oh, why did I grab a NEW recipe??), mixed it up, and slid two lovely pans into the oven.
While it baked, I made the icing and tried to think of reasons to light candles. Not that we need reasons, but it’s so fun when there is a reason to celebrate, even if it’s a small one.
The house filled with the glorious smell of cake and I pulled them out to cool. Looking at the clock, I realized we had to go to the baseball field pretty soon, and I stepped up my game.
I attempted to remove the cooled cake from the pan, and the first one nearly broke. Phew!! Crisis averted. I iced it and tried to remove the top layer from its pan.
That thing wouldn’t budge.
I told the cake what it was, “Stupid cake!”
Then the kids came in asking to see what had gotten Mama all in a tizzy.
I sent them right out of the kitchen, because questions like, “Why won’t the cake come out?” were the opposite of helpful for me just then.
I wrestled with my stupid cake. I broke a plate trying to tap the cake out. The broken plate shard cut my foot as it fell to the ground, and my cake fell to pieces all at the same time.
I sat on the floor, defeated, crying over a stupid cake.
Boy 2, ever the empathetic friend, came and put his arm around me. He asked if my foot was okay. Then I looked at him, smiled, and said,
“It’s just ridiculous. Who cries over a cake?“
He laughed with me, and then I delighted all of them by putting the pan of broken cake in front of them with the left-over icing and handing them forks.
We celebrated that stupid cake.
This is the only way I know to live honestly: sifting the sad moments out and celebrating the mess.
Boy 1 had a great game after the cake fiasco. He hit a beautiful triple, and pitched two good innings.
We went out for burgers afterward, and when we got home I put three candles in the bottom layer of my cake and we sang “Happy Triple to You!” and laughed as he blew out the candles.
Today brings what it brings and when tomorrow comes, life goes on. Candles help it all make sense.
May our days be full of grace in the midst of the mess as we sift the sadness and celebrate God’s merciful love for us.
Happy weekend, friends.
