When I was eight years old, I went to my school’s fall fair.

Maybe your school had something similar.

We had the usual assortment of activities there—confetti eggs, monster makeup, a bouncy castle, snow cones, face painting and a bean bag toss.  Most everyone was dressed up, previewing their Halloween costumes for the neighborhood.

But there was one event that captured my eight year old heart:  the cake walk.  I was a little girl with a big sweet tooth, so I’m sure you can imagine how the “prize” table commanded my attention.

I gave every last ticket I had to walk in that cake walk.  But somehow, when the music stopped, I always ended up stranded.  Even after I had spent all my chances, I hung around and watched longingly as each winner disappeared with a different, magnificent cake.

I vividly remember watching this little boy win one round.  He selected a cake I had been eyeing for some time—a vanilla frostinged two-layer that had candy corn artfully arranged on top.

I watched him make off with his prize, walking carefully across the sandy playground, where he smashed it into the face of his friend.

I was appalled.  The sheer injustice, the waste!!  All that delicious frosting, all those tiny, little candy corn, lost.

At that juncture in my life, I could think of few things worse than squandering delicious cake.

Then, life went on.  But it turns out that I had a date with that cake (or one just like it) a couple of decades later.

Cake 2: Return of cake

This particular memory of my childhood fall fair came to me unexpectedly last month, and I decided upon a remedy:

I would make myself a vanilla, candy-corned cake.  And I would eat it and share it with loved ones.

This past Sunday, I made my cake.  (I think it turned out pretty well—you can judge for yourself from the picture posted below.) But, as I was carefully heeding the directions on the back of the box, I found some unexpected bits of wisdom.

No, it wasn’t the part about not eating raw cake batter… though that’s probably a good piece of wisdom, too!

It was simply your batter will be lumpy.

And so it was.  And so it often is—the steps between life’s beginning and endings are so often lumpy, aren’t they?

And wouldn’t it be so much better if we could accept these lumps graciously, as part of the process?

Instead, I think we sometimes whip ourselves senseless, trying to get things smooth, even, and perfect.

And don’t cakes turn out a little bit flat when the batter’s beaten too much?

I think I read that somewhere.

Cake lessons

1.)    Your batter may be lumpy.  I hope you can be okay with that.  We all have our lumps.  Be loving with yours.

2.)    When others waste cake… don’t resent them.  Make your own instead.

3.)    Share sweetness.  It’s so much easier to share when it feels as though there’s plenty.  And it’s easier to be sweet and share sweet things when we have our own piece.  So, make the list—make sure your needs and dreams are counted and recognized in your own life.  And please, please don’t be the runner up in your own life!

So, there they are.  My cake lessons.  Now go be sweet to yourself.  And be kind to your lumps, okay?