Pie prayers.

I have discovered the recipe for a happy husband. It's right here. Throw on an apron, open the windows to let the air in, and bake away. Oh, and some Taylor Swift music doesn't hurt.

For my husband (and probably yours), anything sweet and baked brings a smile. It's a good thing I figured this out early on. I bake at least every other day because it completely relaxes me, but also because I love the look on Shawn's face when he takes the first bite. Sheer joy.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was kneading the pie dough, I was reminded of the first pie I baked on my own. It was during the summer sometime in middle school and I was really into baking. For whatever reason, I decided one day to make a pie similar to the one I made last night. It was a more challenging recipe, for sure, but I eagerly anticipated the delicate lattice and the aroma seeping from the oven.

As I was working, my mom came into the kitchen and asked who I was making the pie for.

"Uhh... I don't know," was my very teenage response. The thought hadn't even entered my mind.

Perhaps we could just keep it, I thought, except for the fact that a.) I don't like eating pies and neither does most of my family or b.) we already had quite the spread of baked goods, thanks to my recent phase.

After trying to think of someone to bake this pie for, Mom offered a suggestion. "Let's pray for the pie. Let's ask God who it's for."

So right there in the kitchen, I clasped my floury hands as we prayed for the pie. I have to admit, it seemed a little silly at the time.

A few hours later, the pie was cooling on the counter and still had no home. I sat on the kitchen counter beside it and, just out the window, noticed a moving truck pulling in to our neighbor's driveway. The house had sat empty for a while, and today, we get new neighbors. I knew immediately who was supposed to have that pie.

As our new neighbors hauled goods into their home, Mom and I packed up the still warm pie and headed off to meet and greet. As I handed the woman the pie and told her it was for her family, she looked surprised. She smiled wide and said, "Just today, I was thinking that Southern hospitality was dead... but then you bring a pie! Thank you so much."

My heart was bursting at the seams with excitement. My new neighbor might as well have been the mouthpiece of God! Little did she know what an impact she had made by simply accepting my gift.

I did hear God speak that day. He reminded me, ever so gently, "I hear your prayers. Even the ones about pies."

PS - Thank you, favorite brother-in-law Erik, for fixing my blog! It's exactly what I was wanting. Thank you thank you!