The Wedding Cake

I'm making a wedding cake..... I'm adding a bit of this and a bit of that and I'm remembering.  I'm remembering the bride before she was a bride.  I'm remembering the bride when she was a teeny tiny newborn girl with silky dark hair, fuzzy peach skin, and rosebud lips. I'm remembering her smile, and coo, and cuddle and blow bubbles....  I'm remembering the little girl her run and giggle, and twirl, and sing. I'm remembering the willowy teen-ager with a tough girl shell and one of the sweetest spirits I have ever known.... I'm remembering the young adult her... between the girl and the woman, and seeing her mature right before my eyes...  And the in-love grown-up girl, with sparkly eyes and blushing cheeks...

I'm remembering my own wedding cake and all it represented.... donned with my favorite flower, and the flicker of the candle light.... (actually the flicker turned into a flame, but that's another story.)  I remember starting this journey called marriage.... and my fairytale wedding.   Marrying the man of my dreams surrounded by beauty and friendship and family.  You can forget the magic that was that day after twelve years of days to fill your memories.... Unless you take the time to remember.

Making a wedding cake is an intricate process.  It's made with special ingredients to make sure that it isn't dry, doesn't crumble and is strong enough to support the weight of all of it's layers.  It's got to be very precise, and delicate even in it's strength.  I guess the thing is, I'm not very good with precision.  I like results, to pound things out, to produce....  precise is a bonus.  But not with a wedding cake... Creating a wedding cake takes time, and thought and care and patience.  You even have to carefully prepare the pans, because such large cakes have a tendency to have a difficult time cooking evenly. Rushing through it causes the cake to fall apart to pieces.... It takes time.

I used to think that making cakes was all about making them pretty.  I think that's because truth be told, I don't like to eat cake all that much. I like to make them, which is really interesting considering that I'm really not all that crafty.  I think maybe there's something about making cakes that's a bit cathartic to me.  When I first started, I largely overestimated my abilities and underestimated the challenges.  (Typical me!)   But I never made them for fun.... Only for huge life events for other people. So failure was not an option.  There were many a midnight trip to the store for more supplies, to procure ingredients for round two when I'd ruined the first.  Most of the time there were tears.... Great frustration and disappointment over my lack of ability.  And then I'd pick myself up off the floor and start again.  I'd pray and pray. In most instances the finished product didn't look like I imagined it would.  But I was almost always thrilled with the result and sometimes it even looked better than I'd hoped.

I remember when I realized that it was important that the cake taste good too... some really good friends (you know who you are!)  lovingly told me that it's not just about how it looks, because the most beautiful cake can be offensive if what's inside the beautiful exterior isn't sweet, moist, and full of flavor. Kind of like the marriage.

People say:  It's a journey....  It's a process.... It's a fairy tale.  And it is, all of those things.... and making a beautiful marriage, like making a beautiful cake can be hard too....  It can be frustrating and disappointing and painful.  And it requires patience, and time, and grace for the chance to try again, and the right elements to make it strong, and firm and stand tall able to bear tremendous weight.... and the emphasis has to be on what's inside.... Not just how it looks, but how it is.... Possessing a flavor that is sweet, and full and appealing. Bathing it in prayer, and being willing to keep working on it. Accepting sometimes that there are flaws and cracks, and that's part of what makes it beautiful... the imperfections, and how they work together to create a masterpiece.

Happy wedding lovely bride.... You are as beautiful as the day you were born. Welcome to the family, her groom... We can't wait to get to know you better and love how you love our Leela. I'm so blessed to celebrate your beginning with you and to be able make this token for your special day.

And Happy Twelve years... man of my dreams....  despite the cracks, and the flaws, and the imperfections, there is depth and beauty and strength.  It hasn't always looked like I thought it would, but I think in truth that what is being produced in us is far more beautiful than I ever knew to hope for...

1 Corithians 13

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails.

Burlap to Cashmere

When Brian and I first started dating he introduced me to a band called Burlap to Cashmere.  It was a folk Christian band.  Their songs were catchy and fun.  I haven't thought about the band in a long time.  However, recently burlap has been catching my eye.  Its really vogue right now, all rustic,and frazzled and earthy.

 I decided that for my day off with the kids we'd begin decorating for fall...  We'd unpack the fall decor, made some crafts and maybe a list of things we need to get to really make our home feel like Autumn's coming.  The kids were super excited.  I'm not sure what Noah thought was in the fall box- but he literally could not wait.

So I went to Michael's. I haven't been there in ages.  They have some really cool things right now.  I'll admit I was a little overwhelmed.  I had a list and a goal, and pretty much stuck to it.  I bought burlap, a wreath form, some canvases for working on our projects. I was really excited for the big kids to come home so we could work together.

They were excited too.  They dove right into their little wreath craft while I worked on mine.  At first it was the bliss that I'd imagined.  "This is the best day ever!"  Happiness, and laughter and joy.

Then something changed. They argued over where to put the leaves and banner.  Over who would do what.  I quietly chided them, encouraged them to work together.  We unpacked the fall box but that was a bit of anticlimactic. I still don't know what Noah was expecting but that box failed to meet his expectations.  He tanked hard. "This is the worst day ever". Ouch... What happened to the give thanks spirit of the wreath they were making.  Noah swallowed his bitterness and let it grow.  His attitude declined and he was really having a tough time. I watched my son's countenance change as he decided to give in to disappointment.

I swallowed my own disappointment.  I gently corrected him.  I firmly corrected him.  I corrected him multiple times.  He did not acknowledge me.  The pillows in the living room were awry. I kept working on the burlap. Cutting and pulling and pinching.  I twisted wire and molded and shaped.  I pricked my finger.  I thought about The Blood.  I kept working, hoping to make something beautiful out of something simple and tattered, and in pieces.

There were scissors and paper scraps that spanned to rooms.   Noah and Hannah were running around like banshees and I just knew someone would end up with stitches.  I got over my disappointment and got angry. I held my tongue.  Help was on the way.  Brian was going to come and run around with them outside.  It was beautiful.  I was going to get a chance at redeeming our evening.  If I could just hold on, hold my temper.  Julia joined in the fun.  The running and screaming and shrieking.  I hung the wreath.... I couldn't believe that I made it. It was even better than I hoped it would be.

The feeling of accomplishment shattered with the sound of glass breaking.  I quickly went to the dining room where I found the big kids piled on the floor, timid and sheepish and surrounded by my Grandmother's china teapot in pieces all around.  "It fell."  So did my heart. The teapot was irreplaceable. The consequences of disobedience are sometime irreplaceable. I sent the banshees outside.  It was safer for them that way.

Brian cleaned up the china and I vented my woes.  They could have gotten hurt, really hurt.  They have to learn to listen.  They have to understand that sin hurts people around them.  They have to understand that there are consequences.

We talked to the kids.  We issued the discipline. My heart was breaking again.  Because this time, there wasn't any reactionary screaming.  No flying off the handle.  There was calm explanation and planned discipline.  There's a price for disobedience.  I heard understanding.  The kids seemed to get it. There was remorse.  Repentance.  Noah mentioned that it must be nice to be a Daddy, because no one ever disciplined you.  Brian explained that the older you are, the higher the standard, and that the consequences are even more painful when a Daddy sins. He seemed to comprehend.

"We can try again tomorrow right, to have a good day and make the right choices?" -Noah, at bedtime.  Yes baby, His mercies are new every morning.

 This morning when I woke the kids were already up.  They were so excited!  Turns out, the irreplaceable tea pot was rare, but findable! (Thanks, Brian) The kids surrendered their allowance "life savings"  and ordered one online.

This is powerful.  This was pain with a purpose.  This is really teaching, and really learning.  This is turning Burlap into Cashmere... He makes us new... He is making us new.

Some times dead things bloom....

A few years ago, my mom gave me a Crepe Myrtle that had naturally seeded in her yard.  She knew that I loved the beautiful canopy of blooms that surrounded the yard of our first home.  I really like the lacy flowers, and the rich simplistic beauty of the bark of a mature Crepe.   I think I miss those trees more than anything else about our first home together....

The tree my mom brought over was a little shoot of a thing.  My instant gratification nature failed to properly appreciate it.  I didn't even plant it, she did.....  You see, I don't have nearly enough natural patience to appreciate the process that is growth.....  She gathered the children, dug a shallow hole  and buried its roots.  She challenged me to water it so that it could properly take hold of its new home and the earth around it.  I didn't.... I forgot about it completely.

Until it grew.  It grew and grew and grew.  Within just a few seasons it was nearly as tall as me.  I know, I'm vertically challenged so it doesn't seem such a feat.  But that little tree finally had my attention.  It survived with my lack of appreciation, lack of nourishment,  lack of care.  It took hold and grew strong and tall and full, and it became obvious that we needed to move the little tree, to a place a bit more visible and a place further from the house.

We moved the tree to the other side of the yard.  My husband dug and I helped replace the dirt in the hole.  We'd always wanted a tree in that spot....  It seemed bare and empty, and just like it was wanting a tree to take root.  While planting the tree last fall my neighbor stopped by to give us some friendly advice.  He mentioned that the family who'd lived here previously had always tried to grow a tree in that very spot and never succeeded.  (Thanks for that unsolicited vote of confidence, buddy.)  All of the sudden I wanted that tree to grow.  To grow and grow and grow some more.  (For those of you who don't know I take doubt as an opportunity to succeed whenever possible.)

We watered that sucker.... we bought this plant food and religiously fed it. Maybe we over fed it.... I'm not sure, but that sturdy little tree wilted up and died....  It was really sad.  I had just learned to appreciate it, just started to really want it, and it was gone.  Plus I had really wanted it to grow as a monument that would stand tall and proud right on the corner "THE LARSON'S CAN GROW A TREE".  I guess I was imagining that's what it would silently say....

Instead it was silently advertising failure. A sad little washed up attempt, it's last wrinkled leaves fell to the ground it the tree stood naked and bare and hard.  A crisp brittle tallish wisp of missed opportunity. I imagined my neighbor felt the proper mix of pride and pity.  That stung a little.

I really wanted my husband to just dig the thing up.  After all, every time I walked outside or pulled up it seemed to be this monument solidifying "THE LARSON'S ARE AWESOME AT KILLING THINGS."  It sat there all winter.  Four months of brittle deadness.  We couldn't even properly bury our failure.

Some time though, a few months ago, I glanced at the tree, and did a double take... It had leaves!  Legitimate leaves.  My very first thought was "Wow, sometimes even dead things bloom..."

My kids and I are trying an experiment.  A friend shared with me that if you put the bottom of a celery bunch in water, it will bloom again.  I figured that we had nothing to loose, so instead of pitching that last part I cut it even and stuck it in a bowl of water....  That was three weeks ago.

That little plant started to grow the very next day.  No lie.... it was even one day and had a protrusion the next... and then another, and the next thing I knew it had stalks and leaves.  I didn't even know that it was still alive!  It had been sitting cold and hard in my refrigerator for God knows how long, and I just placed it in some water and breathed life right back in it....

I guess what I'm learning... Is that sometimes dead things really do bloom.... I'm realizing a little more every day that the key to life, is really death...  Death to our desires.  Death to our rights. Death to pride.  Death to needs.  To really really live.... sometimes you have to be willing to die.  There's life that comes from death.  Even when things seem cold, and brittle and hopeless... and then they bloom.  Bringing beauty, and newness, and opportunity with it.... Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, but those willing to lose their life for Him, will really really truly live....Mark 8:35