It’s strawberry season, and one of my favorite things to do with fresh strawberries is make pie. I make my grandma’s “very favorite pie,” to be exact. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?

Well, to make that pie requires a multitude of steps and a great deal of time. On the day I decided I would like to do it, the effort started with making the pie crust. That in itself is a project — mixing and chilling and rolling and chilling and baking and cooling. Then comes a drive out of town to a local strawberry farm (because berries from the store are just not the same taste). It is 1.5 hours, round trip, and the drive through the countryside was lovely (even if I did get a later start than I wanted). Once home, the berries need to be washed and hulled and cut. Now for the really fun part, the filling. It’s homemade from scratch, which isn’t always the best choice but often is the only way to just the right taste. Bringing the syrup to a boil over low heat, constantly stirring, generally involves me pulling up a chair and settling in for the long haul. No rushing this process! After the filling is done and the pie crust is full, the pie has to be cooled before serving.

There could be a lesson in there about planning ahead (no way to make this pie an hour before dinner…), but my thoughts were mostly about the investment of time. Some things are worth the time. A store-bought pie would not be the same, in this case. To get the pie with sentimental value and exceptional taste, I had to spend the time on all the steps. If I resented the drive time, I would not end up with a pie served with love. If I don’t enjoy farm-fresh berries, I miss out on the gracious gift of good, good food from my Father. It’s not just sustenance; it is a delicious experience. If I rushed the cooking, the filling would burn. If I didn’t have the time to spend on all this in the first place, our household would not savor this treat together!

Why do we manage our time? We guard time for the precious things in life. We work to make sure that we have time for the things that matter most — loving and being loved. Some days, some years, that means making pie.