Strawberry Pie

Strawberry PieAs the story goes, one day my mother-in-law was invited to a social event, a wedding shower I think, and one of the desserts was strawberry pie. This was one of her favorites, and her mouth watered as she prepared for that first bite. The top of the pie was covered with a sweet, red glaze that not only ensured that every bite would be delicious, but also provided a consistent color.

Then something went terribly wrong. When she stabbed the first “strawberry” with her fork, placed it in her mouth, and bit into it, ecstacy turned into horror. What she had in her mouth was not a piece of fruit, but a chunk of manure that had somehow been harvested with the berries, ending up in the pie, camouflaged by that glaze.

The “flavor” filled her mouth and attacked every taste bud. Bitter. Sour. Nasty. Horrible.

Sin is like that. It looks so good. We’ve tasted it before, and it was delicious every time. But ecstacy turns into horror. It doesn’t stay sweet forever. It’s like that manure, posing as a strawberry, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. And when it does, it brings bitterness and pain. Its destruction is horrible. It’s impact on a person, a marriage, or a family is sometimes irreversible and irreparable.

Strawberries 2Mother never again had a piece of strawberry pie. The experience was too traumatic, and she never wanted to face the possibility of that happening again . . . Ever.

If only we had the same determination to avoid sin.

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