I ate pieces of pound cake and Rice Krispy treats for breakfast this morning. (Hey. You’ve done it too. Don’t judge.) Yep. Remnants of yesterday’s party. You know what? I think this meal totally count as breakfast food. Basically like a muffin and cereal, right? Oh, and I also drank a banana smoothie, because my dad bought too many bananas for The Sister’s graduation open house. (That kind of makes up for my sugary breakfast, I would say.)
We also bought too many Oreos for the par-tay. Those really wanted to get dunked in my coffee and eaten with the pound cake this morning, but somehow, it felt like crossing the line. I refrained.
For the Memorial Day holiday, friends filled our backyard to celebrate The Sister’s graduation. We had daisies in mason jars, flower pots with peanut butter-filled pretzels, and adirondack chairs all around the yard. Inside, there was a milk chocolate Old Faithful. We sent our guests upstairs to anoint the pound cake cubes and Rice Krispies in the blessed fount.
The Sister tromped around in four-inch wedges (the yard was a bit muddy). She was the star of the party and the object of all the photos. She wasn’t stuck up about it. Sister knew she was being celebrated, but she made sure to tell her guests thank you, go get some treats, enjoy the party – this is for you, just as much as me! Grad parties are for celebrating high school and the transition to college, yeah. But they’re also for telling your friends and family, we love you. Thanks for holding my daughter’s hand all these years. Thanks for telling her she could be anything she wanted to be. Thanks for being her role model, teacher, friend.
It was warm, sunny, and clear – perfect weather for a garden party. And today I ate the remnants of that wonderful afternoon for breakfast.
Legend has it that my ancestors ate dessert for breakfast. Grandma, who visited this weekend for Sister’s graduation ceremony, told me my great-grandfather let them eat pie and cake with breakfast once in a while. If people lingered long enough, and everybody was talking and nibbling, why not?
I love my heritage: Dessert Inhalers. People of the Sweet. Just call us The Sugar Clan.
And I’m finishing the last bites of my pound cake breakfast, and sipping dark roast, and thinking, isn’t life sweet? A perfect party. No storms. Friends to celebrate with, friends who stayed to help clean up. A day to remember the people who have died for our country’s freedom, and also, to celebrate the people who have lived well to enrich my sister’s life. It makes me throw up my hands and say, thank you Jesus!
That old hymn came to mind – ’tis so sweet to trust in Jesus. The taste of a double-stuffed Oreo dipped in milk chocolate – man, that is sweet (“too sweet,” said my dad yesterday. “Oreos are already sweet enough.” I beg to differ.) And the realization that the God of the Universe has been faithful to answer prayer, guide, direct, bless, heal, protect, forgive, give abundant life, comfort, love, and care for you all your life?
That is sweeter than dunking your head in a fondue pot. It’s better than cake covered in hot fudge, and scoops of homemade ice cream, sweeter than fresh-baked chocolate chips cookies. (Are you drooling? Sorry!) No other religion worships a God who is sweeter than this – a God who forgives your dirtiest, darkest moments and loves you, who gives purpose to your life, who fills you with the sweetest, deepest peace.
Oh for grace to trust him more.