What is a cake?
A magical mix
of ordinary ingredients.
That’s what I’m told.
You’d have to ask Mike.
Chocolate or carrot, of course.
Both legends.
Legendary first bites
with coffee
after long days of language
and long days of Kathmandu.
Days of dead-ends and missteps.
Backtracking and lost
among these nameless streets.
But then we gathered. Together.
Or - were gathered by another, maybe.
Struck down, but not destroyed.
And we found ourselves
sustained by cake and coffee.
What is a cake?
We are a long, long way
from Iowa’s cornfields here.
My Grandpa’s cottonwood tree
just down the lane.
A long, long way
from my Grandma Bette’s kitchen here.
Her frozen molasses cookies
tucked away in that yellowed
Tupperware container.
Yes, a long, long way from home here.
And no way to return.
whispered: “What are we doing here again?”
But here we are again
seated around this table
in one of our homes.
Together.
Celebrating a birthday – maybe –
singing hallelujahs with
cake and coffee.
Together this is – yes, I see it now –
this is my grandmother’s kitchen
on a day yet to come.
Seeking a homeland. Together.
Together. Desiring a better country.
What is a cake?
Question: Does it always have to be
bread and wine? Asking for a friend.
Because “my friend” prefers coffee and cake
once in a while.
Chocolate or carrot, of course.
What is a cake?
Together. We’re walking along
some mountain trail.
Maybe headed to Chobar
or back again.
And all of a sudden I thinking
maybe we’re on that Emmaus Road
from Luke 24.
Together. Tired, discouraged.
Looking for Jesus.
And then, all of a sudden,
he’s here.
Luke tells us Jesus was “Made known to them in the breaking of bread.”
Question: Does it always have to be bread? Asking for a friend.