Blueberry Pie

I could eat biscuits every day of my life.

Happily.

Whole-heartedly.

For sure.

100%

I love them. I don’t really get it, though. I mean: flour, baking powder, salt, butter, milk, bake.

Delicious.

Do you know how some people are known for one good food in particular? I don’t think I am at this point, but I WANT to be. Which food it is I want to be known for, I have no idea, but if people would say, “Ah yes…Bethany…you haven’t lived until you have had her (blank).” Well, that would just send me over the moon.

Maybe I just want them to say that about everything, actually. What if they said, “Ah yes…Bethany….you haven’t lived until you have had dinner at her house”? Wouldn’t that be brilliant?

And who are these hypothetical “they”-people? Obviously it would have to be anyone I have had over for dinner.

Which leads me to another point: I want to have a lot of people over for dinner during my life. In the last season of my life I had people over probably….hmmmm….at least 3 times a week. Then I moved to where I am now and, well, I have had the total of one dinner party in two years. And that party was last Friday night.

It was the stuff dreams are made of. For me at least. I have no idea what the eaters thought. It was the culmination of all I believe in. It brought me full circle. It was a great finale.

But for me it wasn’t even about the food. Oh sure, I thought it was good, but even if it hadn’t been great, it would have been the stuff my dreams are made of because I had people I love over to my house for dinner.

And, to me, there is something supernatural about that.

I will never forget the first time I had blueberry pie.  Up until that point I was completely neutral to the fact of blueberries. But as I put that awesomeness in my mouth, all warm with gooey and cold ice cream, I changed camps. I went from Switzerland to North Korea: absolutely fanatical about blueberries and the need for everyone else to know it.

As I sat there, I am sure my eyes were closed, and all I remember saying was, “There will be blueberry pie in heaven.”

To this day I am convinced of it. It’s the best earth has to offer, therefore, it will be the worst heaven has to offer. Now tell me that’s not divine.

I think that day marked a milestone in my life. I had had issue with food throughout the years; eating issues. And I think this Providentially came at a time when I needed to deliciously learn that food was no longer an enemy. I needed to switch camps.

Nice job, God. Point taken.

Maybe you all think I am crazy. Maybe this doesn’t make sense to any of you. Maybe this is all nothing.

But to me---it’s not.

I love to cook. I now love to eat. I love to cook for people who love to eat. I love to have people and love and food in my house because, for a girl like me, the redeemed issue of food holds something eternal for me. Having people over for dinner isn’t just giving people sustenance; it’s letting them in on my redemption.

I told myself long ago that I will write a book sometime before I die entitled: “There will be Blueberry pie in Heaven. Thoughts on the eternity of a life lived around the dinner table.”

So, with all of that, I think I might start a section on this blog called Blueberry Pie, in which I will tell stories of how God, over and over again, has met me, with biscuits in his hands.

I love you all. Thanks for reading.