I have a confession.
I ate nearly a whole king cake.
Are you familiar with the king cake? I think it originated in New Orleans as a Mardi Gras tradition, but I’m sure as I’m too lazy to even look at my own link :) All I know is it has to be Southern since I had never heard of it until I moved to Texas.
Anyway, its a super yummy cake that the BIL bought his wife (and us) in celebration of their new move to Texas. I was so happy when they brought it home, mostly because like children’s cereal, there’s a surprise inside! And I love surprises.
See, inside the king cake is a little baby. I didn’t even know what the little baby means, something about good luck? You get to buy the cake next year? I could have cared less. I just wanted to be the one to get the baby.
And I knew I would be! And it would be a confirmation, some sort of sign that my real baby is on its way too.
“Knowing” I would find the baby slowly turned into “Well, if I eat enough of it my odds are statistically higher than everyone else”. That was good enough for me too. I’ll take my divine signs any how I can get them.
That cake really did sit on our counter for almost 2 weeks. And I kept eating it every day. Determined to get the baby. A little sliver here, a piece for lunch. I kept at it. And I didn’t find the baby.
Until there was only a tiny sliver left. Of COURSE the baby would be in the last piece left. The only sliver I didn’t eat. Just my luck!
So I protested. I didn’t want the baby anymore. Sour grapes. Since at this point I was pretty much the only person still eating the cake (not only was it incredibly sweet to begin with, but now it was stale), I left it there. Tiny little baby holding sliver. Ensue pity party. Of course that would happen to me.
And then a funny thing happened. My husband (a.k.a the human trash compactor) ate that last piece this morning. And the baby wasn’t in there either.
Oh great, I thought, so there wasn’t even a baby to begin with! I didn’t even have a CHANCE!
Extrapolating previous analogy, I guess this didn’t bode well for my chances at a real life baby either.
And then, as he was cleaning up the box and putting it in the trash can, he asked me if he could throw it all away, including the little packet of mardi gras beads.
Sure, why not, I said, and as he held it out, I glanced at it for a second. Wait. What’s that thingy? Guess what I found.
The baby. Wrapped up in plastic to the side, not actually inserted in this king cake.
Silly me, trying to make analogies of the king cake to my life. “I can’t even get a baby in a king cake!”
And it turns out the baby was in a plastic baggie the whole time.
What kind of analogy can I make from that?
I think I’ll stop looking for divine signs and just go back to trusting God.