When Mom’s side of the family gathered for Christmas, I would drive up north of Rockford to celebrate with them. Whenever I asked my aunts what I could bring, they always said, “Just bring yourself.” Nevertheless, one year, I decided to bring a cake. I had ordered one—a red velvet cake (originally called the Waldorf Astoria cake because of its origin in the 1920s). Little did I know the significance this cake would bring to that Christmas!
My cousin’s son, who was very small—about two–years–old if I remember right—had been praying for weeks that we could have “a pink birthday cake for Jesus.” The adults told him they were serving only pies, but he insisted there would be a pink cake, and we would all sing “Happy Birthday to Jesus."
When I arrived, the little guy greeted me at the door with the news that we would sing and eat a pink cake. Behind him, I could see a couple of the adults giving me the nix sign and mouthing, “pies, just pies.” However, while scrambling out of my coat and opening my packages, I said, “We will have a cake, but it will be red. I ordered it special to bring with me.” He was not deterred. He had prayed for a pink birthday cake for Jesus, and just seeing a cake was enough to boost his confidence.
After dinner (which, for some reason—maybe the cold weather—we ate in the “old kitchen” in the basement of my aunt and uncle’s house), I brought out the cake. Once more, the adults tried to convince the youngest among us that it would be a dark red, but he could enjoy it anyway. So we sang “Happy Birthday to Jesus.” Grandma blew out the candles and I put the cake down to cut it.
Do you know that cake was PINK! I don’t know what happened at the bakery, because it tasted just fine. But there it was: a pink birthday cake for Jesus, in answer to a little boy’s prayer of faith and celebration.
Thank you, Lord, for that wonderful gift.
My grandmother, my aunt, and this season, my uncle are no longer celebrating with us here on earth. So I dedicate this story to them this Christmas in gratitude and joy.