Dear 29 Candles on a Raspberry Trifle,

You looked like you were about to burn the house down. "There's a lot more than 29 on there, right?" I asked my friends as they carried you out of the kitchen.

"Nope!" one said gleefully. (He's 24. Just wait a few years, buddy.)

It was like a scene out of a chick flick. You know the one. Where the single woman with a high-stress job and a cat stares her years in the face while Stevie Nicks sings Landslide soulfully in the background.

And yet, as I blew out your flames reflected like a conflagration in my eyes (no bifocals yet, thankyouverymuch), I couldn't think of anything to wish for. Surrounded by dear friends and fully aware of tons more friends all around the world wishing me well, with a hand-made trifle made with raspberries from my friend's own garden, on a front porch in autumn-like weather without the imminent threat of winter, I could only hope the next 29 years are full of such comfort and contentment as I've heretofore experienced.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Friends,

I don't deserve you. Each day, I wonder what I could have possibly done to earn your friendship, and I can never reach a satisfactory answer. You are supportive, attentive, and in every way wonderful. And you seem to think I deserve your friendship, despite my doubts on that score.

Maybe this is a slight hint of the love we have from Christ. I don't deserve his love, but he really, really wants to give it to me. To all of us. Deep, true love isn't our love for God, but his love for us, sacrificial love with no reason to expect an equal return. He meets us halfway and, when we aren't there, he keeps going the whole way until he reaches us where we are.

Thanks for loving me so much I can start to understand, however slightly, the love of Christ.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Sweet Potatoes,

How is it possible that I ever thought you were disgusting? Your rich, earthy taste straight out of the oven, the ease with which your skin peels off the vibrant orange center ... with a touch of salt and pepper, you're amazing, but you don't even need that. You're perfect just the way you are.

Maybe that's why I used to think you were awful; I had only ever tasted you dolled up and coiffed until you didn't resemble yourself at all. Add marshmallows or breadcrumbs and you're no longer the root vegetable that I know and love. I met you in disguise.

You're sort of like salmon: fresh salmon, slightly baked or grilled, with just the lightest sprinkling of lemon. Nature did most of the work getting you to be tasty. We just have to add some heat.

Excuse me. I have a plate of sweet potato sitting beside me that begs me to return.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear BFF's 3-Year-Old Son,

Thank you so much for asking your mom today if Barbie was Justin Bieber's husband. Everything about that question shows me what an awesome combination of your parents you already are.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2012,

Please don't suck.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear AllRecipes.com,

Thank you for the Sweet Potato Biscuits recipe that has brought me and my family such delicious joy. In 28 minutes I might also be thanking you for the Garlicky Baked Butternut Squash recipe when it comes out of the oven.

Hugs & kisses,
B