Maybe it was never meant to be held to my chest...
This is the time of year for pulling out all our special things — the better dishes, the fancy serving trays, and the shiny cutlery — pulling out all the stops: bringing out our traditional recipes, sparkly clothing, and dusting off our going-out shoes.
There is a time for special and a time for sacred. But today, I was feeling like sometimes we just safeguard things by calling them “special,” making them hold more value than they’re due, and frankly, being selfish and stingy with what we could be using more often or sharing freely with others.
This thought came from realizing I could and should share my carrot cake recipe. It’s not even mine! The recipe was originally purchased from a fancy restaurant and subsequently adapted with more affordable ingredients by my grandma and great aunt. It went on to win a few blue ribbons at the fair and was later used in every cookbook my grandma helped compile for fundraisers — raising money for the church, the historical society, etc. What she freely gave, I’ve been guarding anytime people ask me for the recipe...(although anyone in my family with the cookbooks could have shared it at any time…). But here I have been, holding it close to my chest as if it had some intrinsic value that would somehow vanish if I gave it out freely.
I’ve made it dozens and dozens of times over — for our salon in Australia, where people would literally request it when they booked their hair appointments. I’ve made it for numerous family gatherings or for my mom when I visit Ohio. It’s a favorite at events and at parties we’ve hosted at our home in Thailand. For me, it’s something I feel happy to make because everyone loves it. But the reason it’s significant to me doesn’t start with the compliments I’ve had on the cake.
The reason it’s so meaningful is because I made it with my grandma every year I can remember growing up — for my mom’s birthday. It was a special cake that we only had once a year. I can still remember sifting the dry ingredients and stirring them into the wet ingredients in a bowl upon my grandma’s counter, and baking it in the same tube pan every time. Her special trick of adding orange juice to cut down on the oil, or checking it with a piece of uncooked spaghetti to see if it had baked through. The buttermilk glaze that everyone questions — why it’s not cream cheese frosting — but are always won over by in the end.
The joy of baking for my mom’s birthday with my grandma is a memory I will always hold close to my heart. She was not just my grandma; she was someone who marked my life by her kindness, her generosity, and her humble spirit. Her desire to give to others and be rid of selfish ambition is admirable, and her love left a legacy. Her birthday was November 14th. It feels fitting to share about her this week.
Back to the recipe — I should share it. Why? Because, firstly, that’s what my grandmother did, and she would laugh at me for trying to safeguard it now. Secondly, because it’s the best carrot cake you’ll ever eat (it really is that good…). And thirdly, because it’s November — the month my mom, husband, and grandma were born. Singlehandedly, the three most giving people in my world. My grandma’s and mom’s generosity guided and blessed me as a young child, and now my own husband mirrors that same giving spirit. It’s a challenge to outgive or outserve them! So to each of them, a very happy birthday month! (Judah turned 40 on the 5th!)
So do me a favor — bake this for your next holiday feast, and remember that as you share a slice with a family member or friend, you can also share something from your heart. Give generously, for this is truly the season of giving.
Bringing hope to the borderline,
Kelly
Teach me to feel another's woe
To hide the faults I see
That mercy I to others show
That mercy show to me!
— The Universal Prayer by Alexander Pope
A prayer my grandma cross-stitched and hung on her wall.
