Muddied Waters

People buy the most random and mundane shit, especially when they go on holiday. While living in Istanbul somebody asked me to bring them back a snow globe as a souvenir. I don't know what for because there is nothing exciting about a snow globe. Maybe some children are fascinated by them because they have this sense of excitement and wonder at the whirling mess. A picturesque town lined with plastic evergreen cones, people making snow angels in the park, inevitably a reindeer leaps off a rooftop, and then with a good shake the dandruff like substance inside the plastic sphere swirls around until it begins floating lightly downward. They are all the same. I reluctantly bought one for this person and eventually threw it away because I've not seen them since. A silly waste of five lira; I could have gotten a kebab and salty yogurt drink. 

Living in Southern California however we don't have snow globes. If we did we'd probably need to crack them open to use the water which is increasingly in low supply around here. Despite not seeing them, I've been living inside of one lately. One of those particles aimlessly floating around until the next violent stir of the water only to be flung about, swirling and drifting about trapped inside this confinement. This picture has been in my mind for weeks now, induced by downright discontentment and sheer frustration. I've been working for the greater part of my twenties at restaurants that I don't believe in. Whether it be an owner who is high on coke threatening to fire people in his state of hyper-vigilance or watching a pork chop land in the stairwell only to get thrown back on the grill before hitting the table two minutes later. I'm appalled by these places. What is the point? These jobs have allowed me the freedom to travel, to take time off and do things I love, I'll concede that. But as year 29 commences I have got to make better choices for my future. 

The problem is, with a Bachelors in Theater Arts, a year teaching English abroad, interning for a pastor at church, a freshly obtained yoga teacher certification, and an understanding of a few different languages there isn't a job in this entire world that's built for me. I would go back to school if I thought it would actually contribute to me finding a longstanding career I might enjoy. I refuse to go to work for something I don't believe in. Since graduating from university six years ago I have continued to traverse the globe, mostly on mission trips ranging from two weeks to ten months, but in the end I come back home because my familial community is here. Restaurant business is what I know here so that's where I land, and they are all the same. I wish I could make myself the promise that this one is the last one I'll ever work for. That soon I'll quit and never step in the Back of House of again. But when I remember what it's like to work for a lucrative one I'm reminded that money talks--and that's another language I speak. 

Let me set one thing straight. I know my attitude sucks right now. I'm fully aware that I am in a perpetual state of lazy irritability. My hamstring flaring up thwarts me from running and the sprained wrist prevents yoga practice. Not making money at the restaurant means I don't go out, I don't buy art supplies, I don't pay off debt, I don't fix my car, and eventually the shit all hits the fan. As I watch it all come raining down on top of me I can't seem to be convinced to keep doing the same thing anymore, to simply switch business establishments or move in order to try it somewhere else seems like pure insanity. I realize something does have to change though. Just maybe it will only take one drastic shift; then I can make the changes I need to carve out my path for the next decade. Ten years ago I thought by this time I'd be married, maybe have a kid already too. I once lived with a guy who was 55 years old, never been married, he just taught ESL courses during the day and at night would talk about the women he was in love with who were half his age. It was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Perhaps I'm trying to avoid that trajectory, being old and alone, delusional to the reality of my present. Maybe I have been blinded to the reality of the present, believing that this course is somehow sustainable. I'm holding on to the little pieces of hope that tell me that it's all going to be okay, that I'll possibly find my niche. 

On Easter Sunday I knelt by the baptism pool, my knees wet as water seeped through my trousers and I gripped the hand of the high school kid in the water in front of me. I've been mentoring him for the last six months since he gave his life to Christ. The pastor I interned under was kneeling beside me and while I prayed he affirmed the boy's faith as he supported is back with a hand. Tears welled, streaming onto our cheeks and we could not veil our joyous smiles. A declaration of death and life, something so real and beautiful and eternal. It was a sliver of light for me, the breath of air I needed as I struggle to tread water in my own circumstances, a reminder of what really matters. "Is this what drowning feels like or will I finally learn to swim?" I've often wondered to myself. Mostly, I feel as if I'm gasping for breath but this one was given to me full, without merit or solicitation. However, participating in this proclamation of faith liberated me, at least momentarily, from the closed, selfish confines of this bubble of self loathing and despair that I am living in. 

I cannot spend my adult life working a meaningless job, not in a restaurant, not for a company, not for anything I don't believe in. It feels like a form of prostitution, giving myself just make money. It's selling out, ignoring my authentic self--the gifts, talents, desires, and dreams that God has instilled inside me. Four years ago I walked away from it all; sold everything and moved across the world. In giving up material things I found a cathartic release to the expectations of society but I also discovered a deeper desire for emotional connectedness. These recent months have provoked questions of identity, purpose, sexuality, and intimacy as I wonder how to live a life that glorifies God given the particular lot I was dealt. When you strip it all away, when all the stuff is gone, no meaningful job, no love-life, no goals--there's no trajectory for hope. 

Pro Peace

The most difficult thing about having a blog is that every time I come to write something in it I discard the entry, or at best, I shelf it promising myself that I'll come back to it later. Since I regularly practice writing in a journal, something I didn't do a few years ago, I don't feel the need to type out all my thoughts to process them so much anymore. I find great solace in taking the pen to the paper, letting the words fall from my mind onto the page. Of course, in the process of journaling I don't hold myself to quite the standard that I would with electronic writing, where there are distinct paragraphs and spellcheck. With tangible pages the thoughts trickle like a steady stream, and sometimes, like this morning, gushing forth as my hand attempts to match the speed of my reeling mind. But in the past few weeks I've been even more intentional to spend time every morning with this writing routine. My journal can be (if in fact legible) full of spelling errors, swear words, and incongruent thoughts; that's allowed. 

A blog is a different animal; it's caged animal in a zoo, on display for the world to see. Each post representing a different experience making for a very eclectic hodgepodge of writings. As the zookeeper I feel some sort of obligation to keep the it alive, to make sure each of the attractions are exciting and worth viewing by the public. After coming home from Palestine and Israel I have thought immensely about how to describe my experience in a way that satisfies those who have paid the entry fee. Now, some who read this haven't paid with anything but their time, and while that's valuable I recognize there are those who were also financially invested as well as more who were in prayer for us while in the Middle East. So I feel somewhat pressured to fulfill the duty of zookeeper and make this entry a complete exhibit, however, I can't promise that will happen. It is a wild adventure which I don't think can be tamed by a few hundred words online. 

Just talking about the time in the Holy Land with people has been met with various responses. It was powerful and heartbreaking. We spent much of our time meeting with extremely influential people in the area. 

• A rabbi invited us to his home for a shabbat feast with his wife and a locally born university student. 
• A sheikh from the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem met with us for tea sharing his views on Mohammed and Jesus Christ. 
• One of the leading television journalists in Palestine shared with us her story of motherhood, government red-tape, and divorce that only seems fitting for a feature film. 
• Renowned author and former Archbishop of the Melkite Catholic church asked us to be a friend of Israel and a friend of Palestine, because nobody needs more enemies.
• A professor at a Jewish university gave us his perspective on settling in the West Bank after his immigration from the USA. 
• Daniel Seidemann, an activist and top political expert in Jerusalem gave us an in-depth tour of his city.
• As an Arab Christian in Bethlehem a farmer grieved with us the hardship and persecution he faces from the Israeli government. 
• An Israeli immigrant from England who lives within sight of the Gaza Strip regularly drives there to assist disadvantaged Palestinians, who otherwise wouldn't have access to proper medical care, taking them to hospital up north in Tel Aviv.
• Another Arab Christian man told stories us of hope in which his NGO meets with Israelis and Palestinians (some of whom are the leaders of Hamas) to learn about and practice peacemaking together.
• An Israeli mother and a Palestinian father sat side-by-side as leaders of The Parents Circle for bereaved families they grieved the loss of life together.
• We explored the Diyar Consortium in Bethlehem, a center for creativity and wholeness for the citizens in Bethlehem. 

One might begin to get a glimpse of the vast complexities represented by these lives and understand why it is so difficult to simply present it as a single and complete thought. As I try to force it into a succinct story I'm finding it more and more unlikely. With time I hope to continue to expound on each of these people's experiences they shared with us. One thing that I brought home with me is the value of meeting face-to-face. It's quite easy to throw stones from one political ideology to the other without thinking twice. But when we sit next to somebody and remember the humanity of each person it's a lot more difficult to make them an other. As we begin to understand the stories that shape people, our perspective will change and hopefully become more balanced. We shared tea with Muslims, Christians, and Jews, all of whom call the same Holy Land their homeland, all of whom want to live in peace with their neighbors as their people did for centuries before them. 

"People say that I'm a dreamer because I believe peace is possible between us. But I say you're the dreamer if you think we can go on living like this. This conflict is only getting worse and worse. It's not going to be one or the other, we have to learn to live side-by-side. I do believe, no matter what everyone around me says, that peace is possible." -Roni Keidar

Uganda Reflections: Joseph's Story

Normally we would wake up shortly after sunrise, a cloudy and wet air still settled on the grass outside our hotel door before rising into the Ugandan sky once the sun grew stronger. The occasional thunderstorm kept me awake in the earlier morning hours while it was still dark before dawn approached. At least, I would try to stay awake and listening to the booming thunder rolling in the distance--not a familiar sound I hear back home in Southern California. By the time we made it to breakfast the sun was already up; our group was happy to have the extra hour of sleep and rest. We mixed our instant Africafe or sipped hot African milk tea while eating the traditional potato and bean breakfast provided by our lodging. 

Just down the road was the hospital we'd be visiting. I'd unknowingly ran past it on a morning jog a few days before, the wet red earth splashing up on my calves and staining my green Nikes. Our two Japanese tour busses must have been older than I, likely given to people in the north Ugandan village after the end of their civil war. The security gate at the hospital opened for us and we parked directly in front of the ER. As we got off the bus I immediately noticed a girl with short hair, like many of the poor men and women of the area, with a large gaping hole in her forearm and elbow. It was covered in a white substance, a medicine of sorts. Others sat in front of the run down hospital that was simple, a one-level cement building with square cutouts for doorways and windows beneath a tin roof. After gathering the supplies we had brought we split up into many smaller groups, a mix of Christians from California and our Ugandan brothers. 

My buddy and I were paired with another twenty-something local guy from the church we were working with down the road. Upon walking into the men's surgical ward we saw about two dozen beds, some mattresses were empty but most were decorated with various bedsheets that each patient had provided in order to be granted permission to stay in the ward. It was immediately overwhelming as all we brought was a banana, some grain, and sugar. In addition to the hospital not providing bedding for the patients, food is scarce, and receiving treatment from a doctor is hard to come by. The twenty or so men each rely on family to bring them what they need as they await their need surgery. A despondent sixteen year old boy greeted me with sunken eyes as he turned to see us, his shoulder blades were reaching out of his back like wings and his frail legs dangling off the edge of his bed. He had a gastrointestinal issue which kept him from eating; he was dangerously malnourished. We talked with him as we did the other patients, passing out the few supplies we had, taking time to pray and encourage them. 

I so badly wanted God to do a miracle. The poorest hospital in the city was understaffed, the doctor employed there was overworked, and the patients themselves could only receive treatment in which they could directly pay for. When we came to Joseph's bed he immediately sat himself up some. With his left arm held closely to his body, he smiled kindly and welcomed us. He told us about how he broke his arm and needed surgery, but he'd been in the hospital waiting for ten weeks for the operation. His condition was not high enough on the necessity list and his surgery was continuously delayed as patients with more urgent needs were treated. We told him that we had come to bless him with a little bag of food, that we were friends of a local church, and we asked to pray for him. Joseph said that he had seen us going about the ward and anticipated us praying for him more than he wanted the food in the bag we were passing out. 

As we began to pray in faith we continued to invite God to speak and to heal. Laying hands on the man he nodded in agreement as we came before our Father seeking his healing tough. We prayed and waited, listened and declared truth. After several minutes passed I began to get frustrated. We kept asking that God would reveal more of himself, his truth, and make himself known to Joseph in that moment. We continued to ask for healing. When a particular picture came to my mind I didn't know what to make of it. I explained to Joseph that we believe sometimes God gives us pictures, I told him what I saw in my mind, it was simple really, but I had no interpretation for it. Joseph asked me to repeat myself. Again I explained what I saw in my mind's eye and asked him if it meant anything to him. Once more he asked me to tell him what I saw. After the third time he spoke softly, telling us that he knew exactly what it meant. 

He continued to confess to us his brokenness and how the picture spoke directly to that. He admitted that he needed to trust God again but that he'd been pulled in many other directions. We led him in a prayer of repentance, and we all prayed together celebrating the goodness of God. I am still amazed that God would speak to us, a couple of Westerners, to bring the love of Christ to a man we'd never met, stuck in a hospital bed in the middle of Africa. Even as we left his bedside to go pray for the next man I began wrestling with the disappointment that Joseph wasn't physically healed while we simultaneously were celebrating that God met with him uniquely, calling him back to follow Jesus. 

Missionally Minded

I don’t actually enjoy being late, despite it’s frequency in my life. On this cool cloudy evening as I lay on my bed, my nose stuffed and running at the same time, eyes shut, and feet underneath the quilt while I waited for sleep to settle in. As I heard the clicking of shoes around the house my body abruptly returned from that cloudy near-dream space to reality. I decided to make the most of the time and get off my bed before I missed church. Declining any ice cubes in my hot peppermint tea (because what’s the point) I found a seat near my usual spot just during the last song. Then our missions pastor got up, brought up a missionary from South Africa who spoke for a bit, and our teaching pastor then followed. We open to Psalm 96 and I immediately found my green pen to begin circling the mentions of “all nations” throughout the chapter. Mission. We going to talk about mission, something that I’ve been passionately excited about for years. Then I remembered back to my personal time with God today. I had read Matthew 28 and Romans 15 which are each text about missions, The Great Commission and ministry to all peoples as quoted in the Old Testament, respectively. Maybe God would use tonight to call me to Spain tonight or give me new vision for what country I will move to next! To be fair, in reading Romans 15 Paul says that he’s going to stop in Spain while on his missional tour through the Mediterranean. Always forgetting that passage mentions Spain I’m usually trying to read into it having some magical meaning opposed to it’s original intent. But we were talking about mission so I told my buddy next to me, and Jesus, that I was down to hear whatever the Lord had to say. 

With a box of tissues at my feet I listened intently. They weren’t there because I was about to cry but rather to absorb the runoff of my constant sniffling. As I listened to the message the pressure in my head made it a bit more difficult to capture everything. I sat taking notes. God is Creator, Fearsome, Savior, Holy; many attributes listed and while the temptation is to add an etcetera at the end of that list it simply isn’t the case. Each of these attributes describes Him. I remembered reading that when we see Jesus (Matt 28:17) it leads us to worship Him. When we worship, we are called to train others everywhere to do the same—The Great Commission. As the preaching of the word ended numerous people throughout the room raised their hand to surrender to Jesus. What an exciting event to witness. In the middle of the prayer and praise response I paused and I recognized something. Despite recently applying for a new job I’ve not gotten any final confirmation. Growing anxious about my current job I was starting to get nervous. I know that since returning from Turkey God has called me back to the restaurant that I had opened in 2009 and I’ve been working there again for almost 18 months. I knew that He brought me back there because He had work to be done there; for some reason He wanted to use me. Up to this point, I had no specific direction that it was time to leave. I certainly want to, but despite the obstacles and issues I’ve encountered there He still has me there. But tonight I surrendered it to God; I said that if this other job didn’t open up as I’d been hoping that I would be willing to work there and continue to be the light in a place that only seems to be growing more dim. If he has me there to bring one person to meet Jesus and that doesn’t happen for another six months, or year, or however long, that’s okay, because that one person is worth any of the (illegal) woes I encounter from my employer. 

Surprised at my own prayer the service ended and I walked to my car. With my iPhone in hand preparing a text message my phone vibrated and an email notification rolled across the top of my screen. The manager who I’d interviewed with ten days ago just made contact. Immediately the preview displays, “First, let me apologize for the late…” my heart sank. After four interviews over a period of five weeks, followed by ten days of silence this was not what I wanted to hear. I finished the text message and opened the email. Standing under the night sky in the parking lot I brushed through the apology. Skimming the email there it was, “orientation pushed to March”, it could’ve been sung out by the stars from the sky above. "Yes, yes! Praise you God!" I shouted. A friend was standing nearby and shared the news. In sharing with her I realized that not more than ten minutes beforehand I was surrendering the entire situation and told God that whatever he had I was game for. He is so good, gracious, and merciful. Why does He give me such blessings? I certainly don’t deserve it; I’ve done nothing to earn it. But I will praise God for it! 

Psalm 96:3-4 “Tell of His glory among the nations, His wonderful deeds among the peoples, for great is the Lord and greatly to be praised; He is to be feared above all.”  

Awareness, Intentionality, & Editing

The trouble with creativity is that it sits on your mind for a moment before it's gone. Like a match which burns brightly upon striking it quickly burns out if not applied. So we must give it some fuel, give it something to ignite and set ablaze. Creativity lasts but a few thoughts if the ideas aren't harnessed and expanded on. My creative energy hasn't been focused so much at writing for my blog lately. In fact, days after my last post in May of the past spring I moved into a new house. Since then, I've spent more mornings drinking home-brewed coffee or at the beach, which is now only a couple miles away on my bicycle--also new as of last summer. While my self study of French has been on hiatus I've taken more time to run, which included a personal best half marathon in Vancouver (1:31:07) last August. This fall I finally started a ministry academy of sorts and I had the opportunity to direct scenes for my church's Christmas production. Recently I had to make a most difficult decision and retracted a deposit that I had put down to begin yoga teacher training. Distraction is a dangerous beast.

I've said it before but I want to live the life that I truly want to live. Let me be clear; I'm saying I'm just going to do whatever my heart desires. It's about being intentional. While on a run yesterday I thought to myself, "What if the biggest hinderance to you reaching your goals wasn't there?" How differently would I live if I didn't think that money, relationships, or capabilities were holding me back? I've decided that I have to start living in a way that reflects what I actually believe. If I enjoy writing, running, and reading then I should make time to write, run, and read. This fall the Arts team at church said farewell as our leader and champion followed God's call somewhere else. But as he left, amidst the pain of saying goodbye, I realized I hadn't absorbed all I could from him while under his leadership. Thrust into leading while wrestling with my own doubts and fears of inadequacy I was forced to come to terms with reality. Watching TV and scrolling through pop culture news has not positively affected my effectiveness. So lately I've been quite resolved to give up things that waste my time so that I can use it for spiritual, physical, and creative productivity. 

A couple months ago I got a brown leather couch and placed it in my room. The couch is masculine, weathered, and comfortable. It went particularly well with my fresh natural theme of dark wood and green. I especially enjoying sharing wine or tea over a conversation so the seating was perfect--or so I thought. The only thing wrong was that I didn't have space in my room for the couch. Everything seemed cramped. So I had to get rid of it, I had to edit. Editing is tough because even if you have a good thing idea it might not serve the project well. This couch had to be edited. Making edits is something I'm trying to learn to do better in my life. Not all good things are necessary; this truth is both relevant to creative work and living life. What's great about having moved the couch out is that I took the time to design and build a desk, where I'm now seated, that matches my homemade headboard. By creating physical space I can now make mental space; I can pause to practice intentionality.  

Forever Young

I've heard that it's not good to constantly praise children for what they're good at because they learn to avoid things where they may just be mediocre. They lose interest if they don't immediately achieve greatness and tend to give up more quickly when facing adversity even as adults. I tried playing fútbol as a kid, back when I still called it soccer, but I didn't like getting up early on Saturday morning to go run around a field in the cold. It didn't help that I had little coordination and no experience with team sports. After the season when I was finally done with my commitment to the sport I quit. I would've liked to have stuck with it or at least joined a team that scored. But I had lost interest and desire. My sister was always better at music so when my mom tried to teach me the piano I got irritated. I refused to learn because my younger sister was more musically talented than I. 

For many years I avoided doing things that I didn't particularly have natural gifting for. When I started Pre-Calculus my junior year of high school my teacher recommended I drop the class because she knew that if I wasn't going to apply myself it would be a waste of time for me. So I took her advice and opted for another art class. The lesson I learned from that wasn't to give up but rather to give it 100% or nothing at all. However the problem that arose was that if I felt any level of inferiority or inadadquacy then I simply avoided the situation all together. As I learned where I could excel I continued to invest. Running seemed rather natural to me from a very young age. I almost joined the cross country team when I started juinor high but I remember a comment from dad, "it's not called cross country for nothing" putting enough doubt in my mind that I never ran again. Once he moved away my senior year of high school and I knew I wouldn't face disapproval, I joined the team. Being apart of that team changed me. Not only did I start to run again but the camaraderie and the commitment resulted in more self confidence and assurance. I'm still learning to try new things, to branch out into the unknown. 

I plan on going camping with some guys next month. It's going to be a completely new experience for me. I don't usually do this sort of thing but I'm cautiously stepping out. Initially when I read the email my buddy sent me about the camping trip I responded immediately that I wanted to join the trip. But then as I thought about going, it seemed too unfamiliar. First of all, I don't have anything one needs for a rafting and camping weekend, not water shoes nor a sleeping bag or even a flashlight. The idea of spending a weekend out in the wilderness sounds fun until I think about what I'll eat for the 48 hours I'm disconnected from the civilized world. As I thought about the material things I didn't have required for such a trip, I lost the desire to even try it. Thinking about missing work, paying for the weekend, and purchasing supplies squashed any remaining resolve as I convinced myself it would be too expensive. I was letting the possession of tangible things to directly affect my thoughts, emotions, and actions. Thankfully my friends are better than my own self-doubt and reassured me that I should go. One friend took me to REI and helped me buy a backpack and he's going to let me borrow some of his camping gear. 

In the back of my mind I have this idea that men should know how to do whatever is that they are doing. At twenty-seven I should be much more certain about what I can do. Real adults are good at what they do, they have clarity and direction. My perception is that adults are not trying to learn a new trade or figure anything out. We should be successful at our jobs, good parents, and have a clear "ten year plan" laid out. After all, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, right? Wrong. I think that's one of the biggest lies I've believed about what it means to be an adult. As soon as we stop learning we stop growing. Anyone who has ever owned a plant knows that no growth precedes death. I'm not willing to continue to live under the impression that I have to be the best at everything I do, there is always room for growth. I will not be held at bay with the possibility of venturing into the unknown because I'd miss opportunity, adventure, and ultimately living. Learning and adapting are signs of a healthy life, an active mind, and a peaceful spirit. 

Vegan Chocolate Cake with Vegan Buttercream Caramel Frosting

In our life group we try to celebrate birthdays with homemade cakes. Just last week I got to enjoy a vanilla funfetti cake for my own. As a very proud red meat consumer when I found out my co-leader, who eats vegan, had a birthday coming up I was quite hesitant to even attempt a birthday cake. However, after scouring the internet and talking with a couple others in our life group I decided to take on the challenge. With just a couple hours in the kitchen (and running back to the store!) and by combining several different recipes I successfully made a very sweet vegan dessert! 

I'm not typically a food blogger so forgive my pictures, but I hope this can help somebody else! Here's what I did: 

Vegan Chocolate Cake 

1 ¼ cup flour 

½ cup sugar 

½ cup brown sugar 

⅓ cup cocoa powder 

1 teaspoon baking soda 

½ teaspoon salt 

½ cup rich coffee

⅓ cup vegetable oil 

¼ cup applesauce
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar 

Preheat the oven to 350ºF/175ºC.

In a stand mixer combine the dry ingredients. 

Add all other liquid ingredients and blend until smooth. 

Pour into a 9" round non-stick pan. 

Bake for 30 minutes. 

*If you want to keep the cake from rising in the center, cut an old towel into strips, wet them under the faucet and wrap them around the cake pan.

 

Vegan Caramel

1 cup sugar

2 Tablespoons vegan margarine

½ cup coconut milk

1 teaspoon of salt

First, have all your ingredients ready because it will burn if you walk away! Put a metal pan in the freezer to chill.

In a heavy bottom sauce pan heat the sugar on med-high stirring every 15 seconds. Within two minutes it will all melt. 

Reduce heat to low and add the margarine continuing to stir. 

Slowly add the coconut milk stirring it all together.

It will begin to boil and bubble up, remove from heat after 3-5 minutes (depending how fluid or thick you want the caramel sauce to be). Once it is all one beautiful creamy caramel, remove pan from freezer and pour sauce onto pan, this allows for the caramel to set quickly; I later put it in a Mason jar for safe keeping.

Vegan Buttercream Frosting

1 cup vegan margarine

2 lbs powdered sugar

½ cup coconut milk

½ cup caramel sauce

2 teaspoons vanilla

salt to taste

In a mixing bowl whip margarine for a minute or two until it's nice and fluffy.

Slowly add 1 pound of powdered sugar, no more than ½ cup at a time.

Mix in coconut milk, caramel, and vanilla. (I also added Kahlúa as it was a 21st birthday!)

Continue whipping on low and slowly add the rest of the powered sugar. 

Add salt to taste. 

Finally, after topping the cake with freshly made frosting I drizzled extra caramel over top! 

(I made a stencil and molded chocolate numbers that were later removed from the cake.)