The title is not metaphorical: I really did receive a Bundt cake today!
Coming to terms with the shunning three years ago, I developed a dark sense of humor. I wept when I realized I could count the friends from my former church on the fingers of one hand. But the day realized I could count them on the thumbs of one hand, all I could do was laugh. And then drive straight to that one friend’s house to tell her the story and cry.
Aside from my church friends — er, friend — there were very few people I could talk to. But a small group of women helped me keep my head above water. Among them, “Lorraine” always seemed to know when I needed a lift. On my worst days, invariably she would call, or a gift would arrive on my doorstep, or she would send me an email full of delicious, satisfying swear words telling me exactly what she thought of my tormentors.
And now she has sent me this:
What can lift your spirits higher than a Key lime Bundt cake?
Blinded by darkness, it can be hard to see the light. For a long time, I was so focused on loss that I forgot the gifts I still had. All survivors go through this time of darkness; one survivor shares the experience powerfully here. All throughout those dark months when I felt so abandoned, my fiercely loyal friends stood by me. These women lived in different cities and for the most part had never met, but together they formed a raft that helped me survive the storm.
The Episcopal Church defines sacrament as “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.” This Bundt cake, then, is a sacrament. I thought I was waiting for cake; I now see that what I really wanted was to be heard, believed, affirmed, and safely held. And — I now see that I always was. This outward and visible cake has helped me comprehend the inward and spiritual grace of the constant presence of a handful of precious friends.
And, being a sacrament, it tasted divine.