A pie called Grace

Image by George GrimmHowell

Last week on Facebook, someone posted it was National Pie Day. I shared the post, which led to people correcting me that National Pie Day was actually the day before and not the day I posted it. Which led to more talk of pie. By the middle of the day, I was craving pie. Seriously craving pie. Alas, it was cold and snowy and I was stuck inside. No pie.

I got over it. I bounced back. I forgot about it. But someone else, who had read of my craving, did not. 

Yesterday, after I was done teaching my adult Sunday School class, one of the women asked to speak with me. Ever paranoid, I thought, Oh no, what did I do this time? When we were off in the corner by ourselves, she said, "Last week on Facebook..."

My stomach knotted. Again, my brain went to, Oh no. Oh no.

Then, she finished her sentence. "...you mentioned you wanted pie. So I baked you one this morning." With that, she pulled back a red checked tea towel, revealing a beautiful, warm, homemade pie. "I hope you like apple."

I was stunned into silence. There, when I was expecting a lecture on something I did wrong, or was perceived to have done wrong, I was awarded grace. It's not that I'd done any wrong to this person. Yet, somehow the pie represented grace to me. While I was dreading a scolding or something similar, I was offered the warmth of an apple pie hug instead.

Isn't that the way it often is? When called, do our children come hesitantly to us, expecting a scolding for something they're not even quite sure of? Do they receive an apple pie hug instead? Maybe they should. Even when they've committed the worst of toddler or teenage "crimes," perhaps what they really need is grace. 

Thank you, Lois, for giving me exactly what I needed on Sunday. It will never be forgotten. And, by the way, it was the most delicious pie I've ever eaten.

A pie called grace.