Piece Of The Pie

It was strawberry-rhubarb. The pie, I mean. We made it today, and it won't last long.

Pie is so pretty--so organized, with its perfectly round pan and its perfectly circular crust, and the way the ingredients form the slightest little mountain in the middle. But then you cut the pie, so that you can savor all the yummy goodness. And the organization is gone, as filling drifts away from crust, and what were supposed to be perfectly shaped slices become oddly misshapen, cobbler-like scoops, eager for ice cream topping. The pie is no less delicious. It just lacks its original organization, the planned perfection created by the pie pan and the recipe.

I suppose that life is not so different from pie. We mix together what we think will be ingredients for a functional and enjoyable life. We plan to have distinct slices of work and family and personal time, each enjoyable--one might even say, delicious. But when it comes to cutting the slices, filling slips out. Straight lines become jagged, and pieces of strawberry and rhubarb end up not quite where we imagined they would, making some moments sweet, and some a little sour. Where we expected neat and organized, things get a little messy. What was once a slice of pie becomes more like a scoop of cobbler. The thing is, whether it comes to us in distinct slices or as scoops that have to be contained, whether it's neat and orderly or just a little bit messy, life can still have that strawberry-rhubarb yummy goodness. Because having a piece of the pie doesn't mean we have to get that piece as a perfect, just as we expected it, triangle. It just means making sure we get our share--or several shares--of the whole package. We don't have to have distinct slices in order to enjoy the pie that is life. We just have to try to savor every crumb.