We all tend to have a habit of giving more than we receive. 

We want to show up with a whole blueberry pie when we’re barely getting a piece of candy in return. 

We don’t necessarily give love just to be loved back, but after so much give, give, giving, there’s nothing left to hand out.

We think our tank is being filled—that it’s overflowing with every kind of hot, sugary berry pie imaginable. 

But in all the commotion, we missed the truth: the pies being handed to us were just empty shells. 

They were a facade. 

A crumb top used to hide the fact that there was nothing inside. 

In our excitement and desire to love, we didn’t notice their pies were shallow and filled with doubt. 

That every time we offered someone a pie, a smile spread across our face, their stomach turned—not because they didn’t like pies, but because they didn’t like the berries we chose and didn’t have the courage to tell us.

Eventually, we all get tired of handing out pies. We settle for making small ones for ourselves, to eat alone on the kitchen floor. 

But we never stop baking pies filled with love and juicy berries.

I do fear the pies will start to get smaller.

And eventually, they’ll only be allowed to be consumed by the baker alone.