Sunday, June 9, 2013
The other day I made a cake for a woman in the parish to celebrate her birthday. She has done a fine job raising her children and grand-children and she is always shepherding them as best she can. She frets that she cannot do more for them and she is always thinking about the formation of others. She is a good-hearted person who gives a great deal to others. I wanted to give something to her that was uniquely hers so I baked her a yellow cake and whipped up some white frosting so that it was very light and airy. I brought it to her before Mass and we had a piece of cake in her garden to celebrate. I wrote about our time together:
She sat there
a suppressed smile ready to erupt,
but she tucked it away.
Sipping on tea amidst her garden’s glory,
and picked more ‘nana’ for her brew.
Her long breaths without labor,
she sat tall like a gladiola
blushing bright colors through her cheeks,
and she longed for butterflies to pass her way.
In the gentle breeze, two came,
the same whiteness as the icing on her cake,
and she toiled and spun without care
as time stood still to honor her special day.
And she reached for a second piece.