the sweetest

Tonight my church held their annual Lessons and Carols. Church at night has always left me with a more reverent feeling—which is odd because it also feels all wrong and against-the-rules. 

Entering the building from the cold misty night into such a warm, light and people-filled place was right. The carols and the readings carried across a room full of wool and breath and listening ears.

My dad sat on my right, and when the pastor announced the dessert reception after, I leaned in to tell him where the cakes were from and he visibly came alive: sat at attention, a little thrill shocking his tall frame.

Sweets do that to us, and I admit that while the Message and the song and the overall feeling of the evening leave me still golden and reverent in this moment hours later, I also gave much daydreaming over to the desserts.

Generous wedges of sweet potato cake, squares of espresso-iced chocolate, stacks of legendary chocolate chip cookies…red velvet was there, but was gone before my husband could secure me a slice: the last one bogarted by a five-year old boy who, as I later learned, bypassed the plate and simply palmed the entire slice.

I can’t blame him.

This season is the sweetest, and we glup and move on to the next taste. There isn’t enough savoring, enough rest—the two things we should do as we listen for What is coming. Look up. Taste and rest and wait.