Redemption as fallen cake… (why your dreams so desperately matter)

fallen cake

I know Christians whose faith and testimonies are unassailable. They are bedrock; unshakable, steady, secure. In my life,  these are the people I humbly seek out when nothing less than serious intercession by praying warriors is required. I do not take them lightly. I do not petition them often. Their prayers are powerful. Lord, may it be that You will bless me to pray it forward to somebody else in need some day. By God’s Grace, may that be my testimony someday, when my faith is unwavering.

Today is not that day.

Unwavering? Unwavering faith? My faith wavers all the time, and that doesn’t mean that it’s not good enough.

I am struggling. Life has kicked me and those I love, battered us and at times it seems like life grinds us into dust. I tried enduring it in Grace. I tried remaining faithful and humble and patient, Lord knows I tried. At this point however, I’ve had enough.  I’m DONE. I’m OUT.

What does “DONE” look like?

I believe, I pray, that DONE represents a newer, deeper, more raw but more intimate level of faith. I am either too stubborn, too well indoctrinated, or too scared to do anything but believe. I am DONE with what used to work, because it doesn’t anymore. Lord, help me. #3WordPrayers

Right now, I confess that this wavering faith, my current rhythm, these pitiful prayers, are no longer enough. It’s not working, it doesn’t bring me joy, and I don’t want to be here anymore. I am asking God to change my heart, yet I understand that I should not ask Him to change my circumstances just yet. (No, I have not lost my mind.)

I am DONE. I want out. This mountain of pain, despair, disappointment and discouragement sits so heavy that some days I simply feel like I cannot breathe. It’s time to move this mountain off my chest, but I mustn’t forget to remember what it feels like. Why? Because the memory of this lingering pain will forever keep me humble, like fallen cake.


Let me tell you a story about a fallen cake.

A thousand years ago or so, or at least 18 when I was carrying our firstborn, dear friends of ours were christening their first child. They were hosting a reception for friends and family at their home following the service, and I was asked to bring a cake. No regular cake, this is my Granny’s 2 lb cake, so named because if a traditional pound cake has a pound of ingredients, hers has two.

Anyway, pregnancy hormones must have clouded my brain. I am clearly not a scientist, so it never occurred to me that baking the cake in a cornbread pan instead of a Bundt pan would leave the center underdone and completely raw. It was a splendid specimen, golden brown, evenly baked, risen to perfection, until we cut into it. That’s where redemption creeps in.

Another friend and guest at the party offered to cut and plate my dessert. I was grateful for the offer, and besides, this friend is a New York Times food stylist. My cake was about to get the gold star treatment. She cuts into the cake to discover that the center is molten batter oozing on the knife. I’m third trimester, hungry, and on the verge of tears when  my girlfriend (mother of the newly christened babe) comes over laughing like a fiend. LAUGHING? Now I’m way past hurt to angry.

“What’s so funny?”

She explains to me that she’s never seen me deliver any food item less than flawlessly. She simply cannot believe this happened to me because, according to her, in my kitchen, nothing EVER goes wrong…and despite my being mortified, I begin to laugh. That fallen cake cemented our friendship.

It was the first time, without any intent or planning, that I was transparent enough to be human with her. I had no idea my hollow perfectionism bred resentment; I was only trying to be perfect. (<====Click to Tweet) We still laugh about that fallen cake. (epilogue-the food stylist salvaged what cake was edible, and it was good. She cut it into cubes, found fresh fruit and whipped cream and created a trifle. Voila!)

That fallen cake was my redemption.

What I perceived as an embarrassing disaster was the very moment I became a real person to my friend. My mask slipped. Under no other circumstances would I have been able to appreciate how my façade damaged us both. Thankfully, we moved on. I must not forget the pain I’m suffering right now, no matter how hard. Without it, my capacity for Grace may lack credibility. When and if I minister to someone during their season of suffering, I am able to say, “I know how that feels.”

My faith is wavering, but it’s becoming stronger, because more deep faith is crucial to survive the season I’m going through. I claim warrior faith because I have no choice. I claim a faith that declares, “I will do anyway.” I claim a new level of faith knowing that if I do one thing, He promised that He will meet me there.

Yeah, I’m DONE. I acknowledge my weakness, my frailties, all of my fears, that I am irreparably broken. I whisper…no I shout, unwavering faith? Yeah, so what?

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalms 73:26(NIV)

And that is why your dreams matter. If you don’t share how hard it is to show up every day, dreaming despite all reason and no matter what the circumstances…somebody watching you may never show up, at all. That’s redemption…like a fallen cake.

Shared by: Chelle Wilson

Photo Credit: whitneyinchicago