It’s Gonna Take Some Sugar, Butter, and Fire (Pound Cake)

It’s Gonna Take Some Sugar, Butter, and Fire

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Welcome to the bakery!

We not cooking supper tonight we baking, baby!

This ain’t no frozen, store-bought, already-sliced, barely-moist cake from the clearance rack of life. No, ma’am. No, sir.

Today, we healing.

Today, we taking that trauma, that heartbreak, that stress, that “Lord-why-this-keep-happening-to-me” pain and we turning it into a pound cake. A healing pound cake. A spiritual, sweet, thick-with-wisdom pound cake.

Because if we’re gonna heal, we might as well do it like Grandma Celestine taught us with real ingredients, real time, and real heat.

First Things First: Gather Your Ingredients.

You can't just throw a pound cake together with vibes and tears. Healing, like baking, requires intentionality.

Here's what we're working with:

• 3 ¼ cups of white sugar because life has been bitter enough, so we’re leading with sweetness.

• ¾ pound of unsalted butter at room temperature because you can’t soften trauma if you still hard and frozen. Sit with it. Let it come to room temperature.

• 6 extra-large eggs because it takes something to bind you together after you've been cracked open.

• 2 teaspoons of pure vanilla extract that’s your flavor, baby. That’s your story, your scars, your seasoning. Don’t you leave that out.

• 3 cups of all-purpose flour because healing requires purpose. ALL of it.

• ½ teaspoon baking powder that’s your rising agent. Faith. Hope. Therapy. That friend who tells you the truth even when it stings.

• ½ teaspoon salt because balance. If it’s all sweet, it ain’t real.

• ¼ teaspoon nutmeg a little mystery. A little kick. Just like life.

• 1 cup of 1% milk to smooth it all out. Because some days, we just need something gentle to wash it all down.

Preheat That Oven 325 Degrees of Reflection.

Before you even start mixing, you gotta set the temperature right.

And let me tell you healing won’t happen in a cold, bitter heart. It requires heat the fire of honesty, the warmth of forgiveness, and yes, the occasional scorch of a truth you don’t want to face.

That trauma you’ve been carrying?

We’re not stuffing it in the freezer.

We’re putting it in the oven.

And no you can’t microwave this healing, darling. This ain’t a Hot Pocket.

This here is a process.

So grease your spirit, dust your soul with grace, and grab that fluted Bundt pan of purpose we’re about to bake.

Cream That Sugar and Butter.

This step right here?

It’s where we start blending the sweetness of who you are with the softened butter of what you’ve endured. Life tried to beat you down, but now we’re beating that butter on medium speed until light and fluffy about five minutes.

That’s you saying,

"I’m tired, but I’m still here."

"They hurt me, but I forgive."

"It happened, but it won’t define me."

Now that’s a cream worth spreading.

Add Those Eggs One at a Time.

Each egg? That’s a chapter of your life.

One by one, you break it.

One by one, you beat it.

One by one, it blends into the mix and somehow holds everything together.

A broken childhood? Add it in.

That toxic relationship? Crack it open.

That time you thought you wouldn’t make it but you did? Beat it in for 45 seconds and give thanks.

Add your vanilla your authenticity. The pure you. Even when life tried to water it down.

Time to Combine the Dry Ingredients AKA, Your Lessons.

Now we pull together all that flour (purpose), baking powder (growth), salt (perspective), and nutmeg (a little kick of “you can’t break me”).

Mix half of that into your butter mixture but gently now. Don’t overbeat your pain. Healing takes a tender hand. Add in the milk your peace, your softness, your "I deserve to rest." Scrape the bowl because no part of your story gets left behind.

Repeat.

That second half of flour and milk?

That’s the future you. The strong you. The joyful you.

Don’t rush it. Let it blend.

You’re becoming whole again.

Pour It All In But Don’t Overfill.

Life will try to overstuff your plate trauma, bills, family, church duties, car breaking down, coworker named Sharon who always got something slick to say…

But healing requires space.

Fill that pan only two-thirds full.

Leave room for rise.

Because baby, you are about to rise.

Smooth out the top you deserve a peace that’s level.

Not perfect. Not Instagram cute.

But solid.

Balanced.

Ready.

Now… We Bake.

This is the hardest part.

The waiting.

The not knowing if it’s working yet.

The silent stretch of the oven where everything is hot and still and you just gotta trust the process.

Don’t open the door.

Don’t let people in who don’t respect your process.

Don’t poke at yourself every five minutes checking,

“Am I healed yet?”

Let God work.

You’re in the heat but not to burn.

You’re in the fire but not to be destroyed.

You’re rising. Quietly. Powerfully. From the inside.

Give it time about 1 hour and 25 minutes (aka, however long God says).

Then take it out and rest.

Because healing isn’t just about breaking and baking It’s also about cooling off before you serve your next chapter.

The Final Step: Flip the Cake.

You’ve been upside down, stuck in a pan of pressure but now it’s time to turn it over and let the beauty reveal itself.

That trauma?

It didn’t make you bitter it made you bold.

That heartbreak?

It didn’t ruin you it refined you.

Those cracks you thought would ruin the cake?

Turns out, they let the sweetness in.

You’re not broken.

You’re baked.

You’re seasoned.

You’re sacred.

And you’re ready to serve others from a place of wholeness with a side of sarcasm, and a whole lot of sugar and truth.

Closing Note from the Bakery

Life will hand you a mess of ingredients

But with love, time, and a little holy heat,

You’ll rise.

So go ahead and cut yourself a slice of that healing.

And if anybody dares tell you it took too long,

just smile and say:

“Good cake takes time. And so does healing.”