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.

A Line in the Water And A Worm on the Hook

I’m thinking, today, about when my sisters and I were kids and the family would go fishing — sitting, waiting quietly for a bite — something that comes to you while you do nothing but enjoy the moment. My dad fished as often as he could. He taught us how to bait a hook, cast out. But more importantly, how to sit and wait, taking it all in and savoring our surroundings — how pretty it all was, the birds we could hear, the feel of the breeze. I believe it is because of this that I will soon get a call from my sister, Jayne, asking if I see the early signs of spring, or if I notice the shadows changing. Or we will talk about the different song of the birds in the morning.

But waiting — that’s the hard part. There are plenty of opportunities to practice waiting all the time. There’s waiting for the weather to clear up, waiting for a doctor’s appointment, waiting for a delivery, waiting for change, waiting for answers, waiting for time to pass.

I once read, on one of those silly plaques in a novelty store, “there is a fine line between waiting for fish to bite and just plain looking stupid”.  And isn’t that the truth! To sit quietly waiting … while the most I am investing in the game is a line in the water and a worm on the hook, — well, isn’t that just ridiculous? Shouldn’t I, at the very least, waggle the line and wiggle the worm? Entice the fish to bite? Cast, and re-cast? Most times, for me, waiting peacefully is impossible, although I love the idea of it. Then:


comes to me, and there is something to this. A peace that my mind cannot comprehend. A knowing that all things work together for good. A trust. A revelation. And, with that, I am reminded how to wait: surrender.  To the moment.  I don’t just give up, I move out of the way.   I let it all fall into His hands.  I don’t just let it go, I let God. And, in that place, I find


which is what I think dad was trying to show us with a line in the water, and a worm on the hook.