The Apple Pie Visit
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“The Apple Pie Visit,” Ensign, Mar. 1987, 33

The Apple Pie Visit

It was about lunchtime on a warm summer day, and all of my children were away at summer camps or playing with their friends.

One of my visiting teachers called to tell me that the only time she and her companion could visit me was during lunch. “Sister Swaner,” she said, “I hope you haven’t eaten lunch yet, because neither have I nor Sister Davis. Would it be all right to come to your home for lunch?”

“What? You’re kidding aren’t you?” I responded. “I’m in my old clothes, and besides, I don’t have anything to feed you. I haven’t done my shopping for the week.”

Sister Jones replied, “You don’t have to furnish the food. We will bring it. You just set the table, and we’ll do the rest.”

After a wonderful lunch, we went into the living room, where my visiting teachers touched my heart with a beautifully prepared lesson. Not only had they fed me physically, but they had fed me spiritually as well.

After the lesson, we relaxed and talked about our talents and desires. Sister Jones was an excellent cook and pie maker, and Sister Davis was a fine artist. I expressed my frustrations as a free-lance writer, then confided to them, “You know, I admire you both so much. I know my talents are different from yours, but I would so love to learn how to make a pie. My husband would be shocked if I did.”

No sooner had I said that than Sister Davis stood up. She winked at Sister Jones, and together they pulled me from my chair. Sister Davis announced, “Now for your second lesson, Ruth. Come right into your kitchen.”

They sat me down at the kitchen table and lifted pie plates, flour, sugar, apples, spices, and more from a brown paper bag. Sister Jones said, “Now we are going to teach you how to make an apple pie. We will make the first one, and then you will make the next one with our help.”

In less than an hour, two beautiful apple pies were baking in the oven. The aroma filled the house. Not only had I learned how to make a pie, but when my husband came home, he would eat the rewards of my work, thanks to the loving, patient reassurance of my visiting teachers.

As Sister Jones and Sister Davis prepared to leave, I hugged them gratefully, choking back the tears.

With each hug I made a silent commitment to share my own love, warmth, and special talents with those I visited.

  • Ruth Harris Swaner, a free-lance writer, is a visiting teacher in her Smithfield, Utah, ward.