Battle Scars and Boo-Boos

. . . so we're having our parish dinner this weekend. The letter that went out to parish families was about the same as they always send out - with one exception. Instead of baking two loaves of bread and a couple of cakes OR pies, the letter just said bread and pie.

Now, I've made pies before, but never for anyone that cared whether the crust was nice and flaky rather than tough and over-processed. Usually though, I just buy refrigerator pie crust and make do with that.

But not for the parish dinner. We're known for doing it from scratch. All homemade. Nothing but the best for our parish and community.

So, I decided to do a trial-run. Make a practice pie.

The pie was great. The crust perfect. I'm ready for the real deal.

And I have a burn on my arm to prove it. My husband says it'll scar for sure. It doesn't hurt. Just looks like an angry two-inch line on the under-side of my right arm.

I used to think that the only persecutions and sacrifices and hardships that had any eternal merit were those that came from a direct witness of the Good News of the Gospel. In short, the only suffering and sacrifice that mattered were those things that missionaries endured in places where the Gospel Message got you killed.

Certainly, a little scar on the arm while baking a pie for a parish dinner did not qualify. It was just an unfortunate boo-boo.

But, I'm learning - as St. Therese says - that all is grace. Everything. Nothing is wasted. Not even a little burn on the tender flesh on the inside of an arm. I have a battle scar.

Okay, so I wasn't wounded while sharing the faith in a foreign country. Maybe I can work up to that.

I simply burned my arm while making a pie.

The pie turned out great, by the way. And I think I'm ready for the real deal. I pray that our parish will be a witness through good old fashioned hospitality this weekend. And if you are in the St. Louis area, maybe you'll journey beyond West County and Chesterfield . . . past highway 94 to highway D, through Busch Wildlife . . . until you reach the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

And try the apple pie. It's homemade - with lots of love