A Cupcake and a Cataract

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Some days, you just need a cupcake.

Now before anyone gets too excited and up in arms about me advocating sugar ingestion by the masses, just BREATHE and give me a moment.

Anyone who has ever had an inkling of stress knows what kind of day I am talking about.

It’s the kind where you need to go to Target but are deathly afraid you’ll end up on the floor, in the bakery section with CASES of cupcakes open, crumbs dripping from your chin, face covered in frosting and just about the time you think about slowing down, you’ll look up to see some vaguely familiar face say, “Sara, it’s so nice to see you.” But all you’ll have to offer is a “MMMMHMMM…” and the sound of another case of cupcakes being opened.

Yesterday, I needed a cupcake.

Because of a…

Wait for it…

Cataract.

Yes, that’s right.

A cataract.

This thing is maybe the size of gnat. It isn’t affecting my lovely eyes one iota.  And beyond further proving my theory that my girl, Betty White and I have switched bodies so that she can rock the world with her awesome, ninety-year-old shenanigans, this miniscule little bit is not even cupcake worthy.

But it is what sent me over the edge of reason.

Forget the tire tracks between here and the hospital.

The other test results.  The stroke nonsense.  The bills coming in faster than I can say, “Bless my socks!”

A cataract the size of a gnat was my great undoing.

Now, the only thing that saved me was the little children whose verbal vomit post-school so confused me that I forgot about cupcakes.

(BLESS THEM.)

Until midnight when I was lying in my bed, full-on awake and jonesing for some mini-frosted cake deliciousness. Where I found myself nearly putting on my shoes and opting for a 24-hour Walmart version until I realized I was too tired to walk downstairs so I had a piece of Halloween candy and called it good.

Madness, you say?

Sort of.

The longer I walk through the waters of uncertainty, I’ve realized how much we all just need a cupcake.

And while yes, sometimes, it is a LITERAL cupcake.  It can also be a beautiful metaphor for that one thing that Jesus touches to give us non-sensical joy when the floodgates open.  It’s the little respite of sweet amongst the sour.

Sometimes, it’s our kids.

Sometimes, it’s our friends.

Sometimes, it’s coffee.

And sometimes, it’s a cataract.

A silly little nothing that opens our emotions all over the place so that when we have to be brave in the bigger things, we are full-on, like-a-boss ready.

Call it the wine that comes from water.

Call it the celebration of courage it takes to get through the night.

Call it whatever you will.

But also call it what it is…

SO. STINKING. GOOD.

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