Pumpkin Pie

 

The pumpkin pie cooled on the counter, releasing its tantalising aroma into the kitchen. Mom was outside. I was probably around four years old as I tentatively brushed my index finger on the top of it.

I was horrified as my finger lifted a skim of the pie top, leaving a noticeable mark. I rummaged in the kitchen drawer to find a knife which might smooth it. Made it much worse. Shoving the dirty knife back into the drawer (never thinking to cover my tracks), I withdrew hastily outside to play. Maybe she’d believe I hadn’t been in the kitchen…

Half a guilty hour later Mom called me in and confronted me with the evidence of my crime, including the pie-stained knife. I had no excuse. This was the pie for Thanksgiving, and now it indelibly bore my fingerprint and a smear from the knife. I spent the next half hour behind the bedroom door, a frequent punishment.

Thinking about the ‘referendum’ in eastern Ukraine, where 98% ‘voted’ to join Russia, I am amazed at the cruel and calculating bravado of a world leader who is increasingly pushing the world into a major conflagration. Now the gas pipelines have sprung leaks. I wonder if he could use a knife from the drawer to cover up his fingerprints, which are all over this operation.

Jesus taught, For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.

I don’t think half an hour behind the bedroom door will be enough, somehow.