Pie

I have recently checked my Google Analytics statistics and, since the numbers have revealed a neither surprising nor disappointing amount of "hits" to my site, I have decided that blogging about my vices will neither help nor hinder my popularity, seeing as I have, quite frankly, none.

To one of my many vices:

Dutch Apple Pie


or, the Spiritual Quest


(The most Adamant Questioner being my Self)

In my younger years I swore an aversion to pie of all denominations--be it apple, pumpkin, or berry. This hatred stemmed from an unfortunate experience at an elementary school party, where I was given a slice of "birthday pie". I sat beside the pool, hoping to continue to take part in the festivities while I enjoyed my dessert. I hardly enjoyed a forkful. Some middle school boy decided to perform a cannonball and subsequently drenched the bite of pie already halfway into my anticipatory trap. I was doomed thereafter to assume all pie was watery and chlorinated.

Yet, at this very moment I consume a large slice of dutch apple pie: a newly warmed leftover from the birthday party this weekend.

Some of you know we had tart, not cake, at our wedding, since I (and therefore my husband) also happen to hate cake. Tart is a close relative of pie--the crust the culprit. I now find it difficult to say "no" to a large slice of pie, as long as said slice is at least a quarter of the whole. I don't quite remember the turning point.

Pie is not the first of my conversions. At one point in my upbringing I distinctly remember loving broccoli. Today I cannot stomach the nauseating miniature trees.

I remember also a time when I prayed devoutly as I eat pie today.

When I was a kid, Sunday worship was enough. Or, if we were true Americans, Saturday nights. Then I converted. Now I feel inadequate if all I attend is Sunday morning. In the church we are supposed to spend our evenings confessing and our mornings drinking the body and blood of Christ. In all honesty, most times I count myself lucky if I remember to pray before I eat.

Perhaps my aversion to the "Experience" stems from my reluctance to turn my back on my heritage. Or, more plainly, the "me" that is my family.

Why must it be one and not the other, though? Why cannot I have the red and gold cross of the Orthodox church, the incense, the prayers, the protection of Christ's saints--why cannot I have all this as well as the upbeat contemporary worship music, the hope of a Protestant, the remembrances, the fellowship in community? The relationship with Christ?

I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God and is God come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am .. one. First?

Isn't that Protestant and Catholic and Orthodox? Aren't the followers of Christ all the same?

Can't I have apple pie and not feel guilty for it?

Isn't tart just a relative of pie?