Life is Like a Rainbow Swirl Cake

There’s been a lot of hype lately. (Created by me.)

But.

People.

I AM TURNING 30.

Last year on my 29^th birthday, I announced to South Africa that I would turn 30 in a pair of boots on a dance floor in Texas. Dreaming and scheming the most fantastical golden birthday kind of plans.

Well… that didn’t work out.

South Africa and visas and “the system”.

That’s all I’m going to say about that.

In a frenzy of tear-filled emails cancelling best friend reunions, church family functions and a long anticipated family vacation, I heard my Father say, “Your family is where you are. You will celebrate your birthday with your family.”

I still haven’t met baby Judah. I’ve never seen my sister’s first married home. And I NEED TO SQUEEZE NANA. But since I heard that voice, it feels just right to be right here. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s beautiful. 

Last week at Sunday Lunch, we made plans. I brought out 29.87 years of sass as I shook my church skirt at the mamas. I told them to prepare my birthday speeches and get ready to make me a birthday cake. The giggled, cooed and lit up as I told them how happy I was to celebrate with them. We were actually going to be celebrating four birthdays all happening within the week.

Mine is August 30^th.  30 on the 30^th!!!  

Um… just in case you were wondering.

Between that Sunday Lunch and this one, where we would celebrate four birthdays, four people in our lives passed away. Two of them were babies.

I got in my car this morning aware that this Sunday Lunch might not be the party we had planned after all. I had no idea what it would be. 

Four lives. Four deaths.

And a rainbow swirl cake.

As one of the mothers got in my car, I could feel her heaviness. We were given the rare gift of a front seat moment of privacy (and by privacy, I mean the kids in the back were too busy LOSING THEIR EVER-LOVING MINDS in the back to even know we were trying to communicate). And that mama told me that, during our 15-hour power outage last week, someone had come into her home in the night and tried to rape her. She escaped unhurt, but her brand new table is broken, along with her sense of security.

I was speechless. What kind of day was this going to be? We just kept driving to church.

In the silence, (and again, by silence, I mean backseat screaming so loud you can’t really hear anything so you count it as silence), I started thinking about all the plans I had.

Today is the day I would be arriving in Texas. At 4:30pm.

We’d go straight to Gringo’s for Mexican food. And then to squeeze NaNa. And then to the nearest place to two-step. That’s how birthday week would commence.

A week ago that changed to dreams of playing Sunday Lunch games, praying blessings over families and learning with the other mamas how to make a rainbow swirl cake.

On that drive to church, I was profoundly aware of was how insignificant the plans were and how valuable the lives are.

This past one week has been a swirl of life and death, celebration and devastation. There has been hellos and goodbyes, sickness and health, poverty and provision.

Life swirls.

While I sat in church, I held a sleeping, sweating drool bucket. I listened to the somber tone of worship, and I shared water bottles and bathroom moments with the most precious human snot rockets there ever was. I heard a beautiful word spoken by a man who had just found out the day before that three of his family members died in a terrible car accident, and I carefully watched the empty face of a sick woman who had slept with the body of her daughter one week ago because she didn’t have enough money to take her to the mortuary.

Life swirls hard and without stopping.

And with those sights and sounds in church today, on this birthday week that isn’t exactly going as planned, it hit me in a way I don’t even want to forget.

Life swirls. 

Why not make rainbow swirl cake?

So we did.

Moms at work!

The observation deck.

Each mama died a portion of the batter the color of her choice.

Esther and her leopard print skirt has the BEST swirl face.

Mama Charity works sticking her tongue out...
just like all of her children. I love it!

Mama Siyabonga representin' the hair bump and purple swirl.

Ready for the oven. I was SO EXCITED. 

So were they... the clean up crew.

Including Patchi.

After we put that cake in the oven, I gathered up our whole Sunday Lunch family in a circle… circle-ish. We held hands, and I poured out my swirling heart to them.

I told them that there was no place I’d rather be than in that circle where we shared our swirls. 

We remembered four lives and four deaths. And a million other moments that had impacted us to our depths in just one week.

Each hand I held was stained a different color from our cake making. And that was exactly right.

We all bring our colors. We all have life stains. We all have our swirls. Our lives and our deaths. Our wins and our losses. Our dreams and our fears.

We stand in a circle. We hold life-stained hands. And we make rainbow swirl cake. This is abundant life.

This is how I was made to start 30. This is how I choose to start every day for the rest of my life. Living, loving and sharing rainbow swirl cake.

And it was AMAZING.

LOOK AT OUR RAINBOW SWIRL CAKE.
I CAN'T EVEN HANDLE IT!

South Africa crowd-pleaser: Just add custard. 

Seriously. The entire time I served it, I was screaming.

Victory fist pumping!

BECAUSE LOOK. 

 I was beside myself to the point of causing a scene. Look at this face.

And this is me toning it down.

 It wasn't just about the sugary goodness or the birthday fun. It was about something deep down the Spirit was swirling and baking in me at the same time as that cake. It was a new realization that I want to eat this. I want to taste and see that the Lord and this life is good. With every kind of moment and every kind of swirl. I'm in, and I'm thankful.

And them too...

Look at Given's tongue - just like his mom! 

The Creator came down here, and He reached out His unlimited arms.

His body was broken for us. So instead of breaking, we bend.

We bow to the Rainbow Hanger while life bends and swirls.

When we bend, we get more flexible.

When we swirl, we get more colorful.

When we blow out those candles and celebrate abundant life in the midst of swirling blows, just the right amount of light shines through the rain and Beautiful wins. 

A beautiful celebration broke out after our rainbow swirl moment. We laughed and played and the heaviness left as we celebrated life together. It became a real party when the mamas poured buckets of water on me to fulfill the South Africa birthday tradition! (Too bad my reflexive response was mildly violent, with half of my rainbow swirl cake on Mama Charity's face and a full-on barefoot foot race with a tackle ending.)

Photo and all kinds of help by Patricia Laura

The Power of the Party

I preached on the power of fellowship at church on Sunday. We practiced the life of fellowship in Acts 2:42-47 at a level we never have as a church before. We stood up and gave from our pockets and our hearts toward a stranger we didn't know and who didn't even deserve it. We invested in members of our body who are pastors in training. We let go of our shame and prayed for one another's personal needs. And we learned the deepest meaning of the word communion. We broke bread for the first time together, and we said YES to the fullness of Christ through laying down our lives for one another - no matter what our lives look life or seemed to have to offer. 

And then we took the power of fellowship to a whole different level.

The stage had been set. Physically and spiritually. 

We said yes to laying down our lives, and then we hung up bright pink curtains and balloons. 

One small person. Three cakes.
One of them larger than her entire body.

The church full of people who the rest of the world might say doesn't have enough to live, rolled out the most extravagant celebration for one little life. The pastor's daughter Praise turned 1 on Sunday, and it was a day to be remembered! 

She even had a party hostess dressed like a princess to carry her around!

Praise and her entourage

The party was very much like a wedding celebration. The little ones sitting at the head table even walked down the aisle for their grand entrance. And it made perfect sense. The power of fellowship - becoming complete, becoming alive in the love of the Father and in His love in us for one another... That's the wedding feast, the grand finale we're all living for. It's the promise at the end of the Book.

Praise was mostly happy about the cheese puffs. 

 Why wouldn't we celebrate life in the most extravagant way when we were given life by the most extravagantly selfless act?

The children singing a blessing over the birthday girl.

The best part was that, although she loved it, I think everybody else at the party had more fun than the actual guest of honor. Praise basked in her chips, cakes and music, but the mothers and the guests were beside ourselves with joy. 

Praise paparazzi 

Her happy mama.

Sometimes you just gotta stand up and DANCE IT OUT.

Lennon gets it. 

The power of fellowship and a 1-year old's birthday party work upside down.
The best part is not opening up the presents. It's giving away the love.

Praise won't remember her experience of her first birthday party, and we won't ever forget it. Most people in that room have never had a birthday cake, much less a party. Some don't even know when their birthdays are. But all that mattered that day was that there was a life to love.

Instead of being worried about who's going to love our lives or how much we can actually handle giving of our stuff and ourselves, we just live and love and eat a lot of sugar. And we are set free.

OH, and we dance.

Big brother Blessing.
And YES, their names are Blessing and Praise.
so good.

Our little birthday cupcake.

The power's in the party.
When the limited lives of people come together for something beyond the limits of life, the good stuff gets unleashed. The joy beyond our reach. The abundant life that doesn't make sense.

We we created in the image of the Master Party Planner. Every breath He gives us was designed to bring us closer to Him and to the celebration of being together in paradise. The secret is in the party - where it doesn't matter where we're coming from or where we're going. We just come around life and love it.

When we're together, that's enough.
When we give what we have and what we don't, reckless joy and unstoppable hope comes. It doesn't have to ever stop, and sometimes it starts with one little year, dressed in ribbons and lace and with cake all over her face.

Let's party.

And a few other highlights...

The unruly party guests at the back of the church.

LOOK AT THE CHEEKS.

Oh hey Kevin.

I made Praise her own mini-cake.
I'd say it was a hit.

So would Praise.

And also Lennon.

Baby Cheeks had another opinion.

Still going... And I just kept taking pictures.

Eventually, the unruly behavior and the sugar high
backfired in a bad way. There were about 4 children in
my skirt. So I promptly drove them home and left
them with their mothers. :)

Gaining Weight

I held a fat baby in my lap at church last Sunday.

Those big, round baby cheeks said more to me during church than any sermon ever has. Because this wasn’t just any baby. This was Esther’s baby, Mangaliso.

I held that same baby in my arm seven months ago and looked at his despondent mother, too hopeless to be desperate. I told Esther on that January day that her baby needed to go to the clinic immediately. They were quickly transferred by ambulance to the government hospital for a few weeks of rehabilitation.

January 2014 - Mangaliso after 1 week in the hospital

At 7 months old, baby Mangaliso was literally starving to death. The weightless bundle in my arms was past the point of being able to cry, his undersized body distorting. Esther was too hopeless and too overwhelmed to register concern for herself or her four children.

We kept going to the hospital.

We kept going to visit the borrowed room they live in.

We brought food, baby supplies, and we showed her how to use them.

Most importantly, we modeled how a family cares for each other.

She’d never known. She’d never experience being worth rooting for, being visited, being provided for. She’d never known a life worth living enough to take the medications her body needs or to understand the gift and responsibility she’d been given – although not through her own choosing – to sustain, uphold and languish in the lives of four incredible little lives.

Now, with 1-year old Mangaliso tied to her back and a 2-year old twin in each arm, Esther walks up a mountain path to come to church and Sunday Lunch each week. She keeps coming because we kept going. And coming and going says a lot more than words.

Last Sunday, I remembered how scary it was to know a baby’s life was fading away in my arms. I remembered the tears, frustration, and how many times I stomped my feet at that baby’s Creator and said “WHY!?!”

And then I looked at these cheeks.

His big sister waddled over, and I watched them sit at my feet – two healthy, whole, loved babies – playing with each other. They laughed louder than I should have let them during church, and their dirty hands were all up in each other’s face holes. And it was amaaaaaazing.

When I thought I couldn’t get any more thankful, the other twin appeared in my lap, and I looked up to see it was because her mother had set her down to go dance in the aisle during worship. The woman who didn’t have it in her seven months ago to ask for help got up and danced for the glory of the One in whom her help comes from on Sunday!

(Esther's the one in the very back.)

I suddenly felt the weight of those gloriously chubby cheeks more than I could put words to.

Later, at Sunday Lunch, we had a special cake to celebrate Esther’s oldest son, Wandile’s excellent report cards. And I remembered that, just a few months ago, at 10-years old Wandile had been destroying property, skipping school and stealing from his own family.

We laughed and laughed together as baby Mangaliso’s body, now strong enough to be mobile, lunged for every bit of food he could find and covered himself in our celebration cake. We cheered on Esther’s parenting strides, and we congratulated Wandile’s accomplishments.

Esther’s life is still not perfect, and neither is mine. But we all celebrated great gains on Sunday, from chubbier cheeks to wider perspective.

Because what these pictures don’t show you is that the beginning of the month feels different than the end around here. Many moms like Esther receive a very small monthly stipend from the government on the last day of the month to help them provide for their children. It’s often around week three, when food and money runs out, that life begins to look barren.

There’s a good chance that, despite the budget training, group shopping trips, and parent education, that Esther’s money and food will run out again this month. It’s likely that Mangaliso will miss another meal and feel hunger in his little baby body.

But I remembered what glory means as I held that much heavier baby in my arms this Sunday.

Glory comes from the root word weight. The weight of God’s goodness rested in my lap that Sunday morning, clothed in sweet, slobbery baby smiles.

He reminded me of His promise that as we behold the glory of the Lord, we are being transformed into that same glory “from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

Esther might find her house empty and lonely again this month, but she’s not starting from January’s despondency. She won’t ever lose the weight of the day she danced in the house of the One who says He sets the lonely in families.

Mangaliso might feel hunger pangs again one day, but he’s not starting with starvation. He’s gaining weight.

From one degree of glory to another, we grow.

Things break. We’re broken. We’re not to the happily ever after part yet. But we are gaining weight. One stride, one meal, one dance, one victory at a time.

We’re not starting in the same place every time.

We are gaining weight.

Father, let Your Kingdom come heavy.