Divine power was the most important source of all.
The eyes of all our guests were on us once again. Ian and I cut into the cake and then a
second time. I placed the knife on a tray provided for this moment, picked up the cake
server and used it to slide the sliver of our wedding cake onto a plate. The heavenly
aromas of vanilla and chocolate swept over us. Pure ambrosia for the gods, appealing and
mouthwatering, I handed Ian a paper napkin, with our names and the date printed on one
corner in silver, and kept another for my own use. Then we each took up one of the small
squares of the cake slice to feed to each other. We posed again with our mouths open to
receive the cake. Ian knew in advance to ensure nary a crumb would touch even my lips.
I lifted my napkin to dab at my lips and surreptitiously deposited the cake into it.
That’s right. I never tasted a single bite of my magnificent wedding cake. And, no, this
wasn’t carrying a good thing too far. Would you ask an alcoholic to take just one sip of
his or her wedding champagne? Sugar was my alcohol. I was a sugar addict and I had
come too far to indulge on even such a momentous occasion. I thought of my daughters
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and the example I was setting for them. I thought of Ian and the woman he had fallen in
love with. I thought of all those with whom I had shared how Science of Mind was
providing me with the incentive to seek Divine assistance and to deepen my faith in
possibilities. Resisting the strong urge to taste what I had spent so much time selecting
for the enjoyment of our guests gave me a lifetime example to call forth on other one-of-
a-kind occasions.
Over the years, Ian and I have traveled extensively. In Vienna, I turned down its
renowned Sasher Torte; in France, I turned down everything from éclairs to mousse and
crème brûlée; and in Munchin, Germany, the famous kaiserschmarrn, a delectable
caramelized pancake with run-soaked raisins. I never felt deprived, because there were
many other gastronomical specialties to taste, including savory spinach and ricotta
croissants, which have no sugar.
Mother, bless her,
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