pie therapy

Holster Has Made Out With Everyone 12) Frog Year: Ransom

His first practice of the pre-season, and Adam Birkholz has a hangover. Like, the worst hangover of all time.

There are so many mixers at this college, they’ve already started to run into each other. Though last night was… yeah. Memorable.

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Following the success of my Sailor Moon screencap meme, I went aganst my better judgement to perform an experiment with another popular magical girl franchise to see if I would get the same results. So I chose Tokyo Mew Mew. Quiche isn’t included because (1)., I didn’t have enough space, and (2)., he’s definitely going to have a separate post devoted entirely to him.



When life gets crazy, bake a pie.

White Peach & Blueberry Pie


  • 8 white peaches
  • ½ cup blueberries
  • 1 T. cardamom
  • 1 T. cinnamon
  • 1 T. sugar
  • 1 T. flour

Cut up peaches and combine in bowl with blueberries, cardamom and cinnamon. Set aside.

Pie Crusts:

  • 2 ½ cup flour
  • ¼ sugar
  • ¾ cup cold butter
  • 1/3 cup cold water
  • 1 tsp. cardamom
  • 1 tsp. cloves

Mix flour, sugar, cardamom and cloves together. Place dry mixture into food processor and combine with cold cubes of butter (or use the old cutting method.) Once the butter is thoroughly mixed in with the dry mixture, add the cold water. Knead into a pliable, smooth dough and then form into a ball. Divide ball in half and form each half into a pie crust wider than the diameter of the pie pan. 

Once the first pie crust is in the pan, pile the fruit in the middle. Sprinkle with one tablespoon flour and sugar and cover with second crust. Fold edges of first crust over the second crust and push up against the sides of the pan so you can show off your style on the crust. I went for a simple aesthetic; you might want to illustrate the battle of Hogwarts around the sides of yours. 

Once you’re styled your pie, crack an egg yolk into a cup and combine with a splash of cold water. Mix up and brush lightly over the crust. Sprinkle with sugar and pop in the oven for 15 minutes at 400 and 40 minutes at 350, or until golden brown. 

Once done, cool for an hour before instagramming, eating, serving to loved ones or saving for next day’s breakfast. 

Not to go all Keri Russell on you, but there is a definite magic to making pies that calms me. I’m not even hungry for it when I’m done making it, but I feel emptied out of everything that was previously consuming me. It’s a type of meditation. Each recipe changes with the day you create it, with the fruit that you find and the mood that you’re in.

Today was filled with meetings, production budgets and shooting schedules and ended with a simple, beautiful new pie recipe. 

Actually, I lied. It’s actually ending with a Breaking Bad marathon. 

There goes the calm I just cultivated. ;)

In answer to your question.


I have been thinking about the markers of my own faith that are partially empty now. I prayed the “sinners prayer” but don’t remember doing so. I was 4, so says my parents. How much could I have understood? I was baptized when I was 9, but thought that was how I gained church membership (in my church growing up it was). I wanted in, I wanted the mark of that community, and it was at the age of 9 that this particular right of passage seemed to take place. So I did it. It feels a bit meaningless to me now. I have wondered many times since if I should be baptized again, with a community that gets it, gets me, welcomes my mess and not just my allegiance. So that’s the back story.

The present story and the word I am finding is most important in all of this is community.

Now I look at churches and how they publically mark community. There are marriages. There are baby dedications. There are funerals. Community gathers around people for these milestones and acknowledges them as part of a faith community. But where is my place in that? And where do I, as a 28 year old, single woman find my community gathering around me? The sad answer is I don’t. The even sadder answer is, I moved to Seattle hoping I would find a community here, and I am still struggling to figure out what that means or what it looks like.

 So there are the nasty bits. I commiserate with your contentions of the evangelical world. They are my people, but I think we’re getting it wrong. So where do I find hope, beauty and real community?

I’ll tell you.

Feasts. Feasts of food. Feasts of story. Potlucks, pies, sitting down around a table, hospitality. 

Here are some thoughts and stories.

As a kid, what I remember about being a Baptist are many painful things…but the good was the food. The jello salads, the olives, the fruit punch. Now that I’m adult, I realize that I knew for a fact that the people that showed up at those potlucks were my family. Were providing sustenance. Were caring for families that didn’t have meals. When someone died, you got a pie. Or a cheese platter. That seems silly, but I treasure its. Food speaks care. It’s a love language. And it matters.

For the past 3 months, I have made a pie every Sunday. I did it to ground myself in some kind of routine. Moving, school, new jobs, it was all unsettling. If I had at least one thing I knew I could do every week, I thought I would feel better. But the pies became prayers. They became a way to work out my questions and my tears and my hopes for the people I knew. I made a pie for Newtown. I made a pie for my friend Meaghan who lost her baby. I made pies for the firemen at my brothers station. And the process of making them, working out dough, watching them set, watching them boil, taught me something about Jesus. And community. And I don’t know how to articulate it fully. But there is something in the making of something beautiful out of raw ingredients, and then sharing it….there is something incarnational about that.

Now – I am exploring biblical hospitality. I am wondering about the meals Jesus shared with people. I wonder about feasts. About extravagance in the form of food, and how it is a celebration of those we love, of community. I think like with God at its fullest is a feast, not beans and rice. Not eggs and toast. Not a granola bar on the go. Its sitting down at a table, and sharing tears and hopes and stories and confessing and dreaming. Together.

What is the good news? The good news is that I’m human. Which means I’m not perfect. That’s great news to me. The great news is that Jesus wanted THIS experience. He wanted to eat. And drink. And feast. And mourn. And hurt. And help. And to be with people. And to think alone. And to come back to people. He wanted the full gamut of MY experience. And the good news is that he didn’t avoid pain. He entered in it. Because we don’t have the choice to hurt. And so he took it upon himself to feel too. Not fix. Not numb. But to experience in all of the richness that emotions allow.

And the great news is that he showed me some ways to not feel so alone. He modeled community living. He modeled feasting. He modeled patience with his dummy disciples. And kindness to mess ups like Mary and Martha the sinful women who couldn’t get a grip around him. And he even gently, at times, harshly at other times, showed the Pharisees that they weren’t getting it right, because they were missing the people in front of them.

The good news is someone came to find me, not create a bunch of rules and regulations that missed me, the single, 28 year old grad student that still doesn’t know anything about anything. Except maybe a pie.