Sometimes I love Dancing With The Stars, and sometimes it irritates me. And sometimes I’m caught by surprise. Last week, an unexpected thing happened: I learned something from watching Bindi Irwin dance.

At first, it was her spirit of joy and gentleness, in the face of her losing her father at such a young age, that was captivating. He seemed to have been such a loving father who bound his family together in strength and courage and excitement and wonder. The meaning of their loss could be deeply felt. Just a snippet of this is shown on DWTS, but it was enough to start a spark in me. I am in awe of this 17 year old lovely and her courage, wisdom, and spirit that seems to transcend this earth.

Watching her week after week started me contemplating my own spirit. She had gone through such a great loss, and yet her spirit flew. In examining my own spirit, I learned something about allowing anger to take over. I had given my spirit away to bitterness, anger, and resentment. But I could claim it back.

It was in contemplating Bindi Irwin’s joy through pain, that I saw it. God will heal that place when it is given to Him. T.D. Jakes says it another way: he calls it “reckoning” — in reckoning, or reconciling, the past with the future, there is a death to vulnerability, fear, and anger and a new life that rises out of the ashes. And dying to the past, he says, takes away its power.

A young, beautiful spirit danced on TV, causing me to wonder, through the tears, what was it she knew? Part of it seemed to be: allow the healing in, give away the pain, give healing room to grow, and know that God is greater than that which plans to destroy.


A Cupcake In A Tree

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One of my sisters, Jayne, has a friend whose husband, Tom, is in a nursing home. Jayne went to visit. Since Jayne, and her friend, Theresa, had not seen each other for awhile, there was much talk and chatting about this and that. At one point, Theresa, and her daughter, Lisa, asked Jayne if she had seen their “cupcake”. Replying no, that she hadn’t, they pointed to a metal pail hanging from the branches of a tree just outside Tom’s window, which overlooked the courtyard. As it had been snowing on and off, the snow had filled the pail, piling up and creating a pretty mound of snow-frosting on top. “Our cupcake”, they said. Jayne agreed. It was so pretty — being all by itself, just hanging from the tree right outside the window — leaving her to wonder who put the pail there and why. But some questions go unanswered and so Theresa, Tom, Lisa, and Jayne were content to see a cupcake, provided by nature, hanging all alone, in the courtyard of the nursing home, for their enjoyment and wonder.

As Jayne was preparing to leave, and was saying her goodbyes, Theresa’s son, Joe, stopped by to visit. Theresa asked him “have you seen our snow cupcake?” He is interested. Where? There. And he replies: “do you know that is what grandma used to call me? Her nickname for me was ‘cupcake’. In fact, I just got a cupcake tattoo the other day,” He remarked, pointing to the location on his shoulder. A second of a pause while this new information sinks in. And then the answer: a sign that grandma was with them — she was watching over Theresa’s husband, watching over Theresa, watching over the family. A sign of love — that no matter what, I am with you — always — you are not alone.

Moments like this make me wonder. I let myself contemplate the spiritual world that surrounds us, the world of our Father, who is in heaven, revealing to us a supernatural world that is more real, more attentive, more personal, more loving, and more everlasting, than the temporal world we know here on earth. Pausing for a moment, and thinking, about this cupcake-in-a-tree: yes, the snowy days filled a pail that was hanging from a tree. Snow does that. Nothing unusual or extraordinary there. And yes, when the bucket became filled, it overflowed and created a mound on top. And yes, if one paid attention, it would look like a cupcake. But … why a pail in a tree? And why that particular tree? If it had been on the other side of the courtyard, it wouldn’t have been noticed by Theresa’s  family, a family that had a connection to a cupcake in a tree —

I can’t help but imagine that the connection was just waiting to be discovered. And then Theresa’s son came, bringing the cupcake story to its wonderful conclusion: grandma sent a message from heaven, a blessing to them all, that she is here. Now, the world calls this type of thing “just a coincidence”. But what if a coincidence is really an encounter with the living, Father God? His calling card to us? Sending us messages through our loved ones? Wouldn’t that be a tasty morsel? Just maybe, if we keep our eyes open wide enough, we will see cupcakes, made out of snow, in the branches of trees, there just for us. May we each taste our own sweet “coincidences” today … sent for our hope, pleasure, delight, and joy.