Apple Pies and Love

If you know me well, you know that I'm not much of a cook. 

Ok... that may or may not be the biggest understatement known to mankind.

I don't cook.

At all.

Unless you count bowls of cereal and occasionally put in the oven cinnamon rolls.

And also homemade apple hand pies.

Now, let me clarify.  I don't actually fix these hand pies myself.  It's a team effort. My Aunt Lisa makes the dough and my Mom makes the apples. 

My job is pretty simple. 

Pour out flour in a plate. Roll the dough out. Spoon in the apples.  Fold the handpie over.  Use a fork to seal the edges.

It sounds easy... but really it's not.

Because it takes patience.

I tend to flop the dough on the plate and quickly roll, quickly spoon, quickly pat to seal the edges.

Which means that my pies are usually too thin and the apples end up coming through.

Or my edges don't seal, meaning that the apples come through.

Now my sister, Holly?

She has the patience of Job.... and her handpies are nearly perfect.

I'm learning that perfect is overrated.

Because the important thing about making these handpies isn't in how they look.

Those handpies are just the conduit to get us all together.

Community.  Laughing. Sharing stories.  Staring at Braylee.  Running into each other in the kitchen and looking through old picture albums... again...

They may not be perfect, but neither are any of us.

And to be honest, I'm ok with that.  See, we all have different tastes.  My Aunt Nora likes them thin, with just enough apples to give the dough a little of flavor.  My Uncle Mike, he likes them thick, with the apples almost spilling out (but not quite... because Holly took care to seal the edges just enough).

And if you think about it, those pies represent us.  We are different.  Different interests, but the same story, interwoven. 

And those apples spilling out?

Well, tonight I'm thinking of how many fried handpies have been given and sold over the years... symbols of love.

And tonight, and this year, I'm praying... May I spill out with love just like my handpies spill out apples...

Not quite perfect, but fruitful and tasteful just the same.

And I'll tell you a secret.  I'm 35 years old and we've been making handpies as long as I can remember.  Every grandchild has made them. Today Braylee patted out the dough... not quite making a handpie, but it's a start.

And today I ate my first handpie ever. 

Yes, I said it.  I had never had one of Grandma's handpies.  I'm pretty sure that I missed out... but my Mama's tasted pretty good.

Even if the apples were kind of spilling out because I didn't seal the edges.