I tend to be one with high hopes and big dreams even about little things...such was the situation on Sunday. Because Emma was sick, I stayed home from church and had planned on making meatloaf for lunch.
Kevin has not been feeling well either and so I thought, "wouldn't it be awesome to make a nice hearty meal for him." I really began to see it as an opportunity to serve God and be a blessing to my husband. I even put on worship music and really tried to make it a time of worshipful service.
I had tried to plan the timing so that everything would be done about the time Kevin and Jack arrived home from church. I put ingredients to make bread in the bread machine, made the meatloaf and put it in the oven, mixed up a jello salad, put veggies in the microwave to heat up just before we sat down to eat, and then worked on peeling and slicing potatoes for mashed potatoes. Emma had even been fed and was happily sleeping in the swing. Everything seemed to be going perfectly and I was blissful.
The timer went off for the bread and the smell was amazing. I popped it out and it looked great, one down. I then pulled the meatloaf out of the oven, drained the grease and it looked perfect. I noticed the potatoes were not boiling as quickly as I needed them to, so I covered them, hoping to move along the process.
I was just checking the jello salad as Kevin arrived home and noticed it was still soupy. "Oh well, I thought, I'll just forgo it." Before I had a chance to tell Kevin to go sit a relax for a few minutes, he began to check out my handiwork. (I have to note that Kevin is a good cook and usually does Sunday lunch.)
I was putting together the mashed potatoes so they would be fluffy and fresh, getting ready to have us come to the table.
He asked if I had checked the meatloaf and I reluctantly shared that I took it out because it looked done. I proceeded to check the end which looked fine but as Kevin cut into the center, he discovered it was not done. I began to take personally that he was asking me these questions and showing me my faliures and my perfect little bubble began to deflate, releasing my rose colored dreams of a beautiful and perfect homemker making dinner into the air.
This was the beginning of the end. The veggies had been heated and on the table, the mashed potatoes prepared and the meatloaf needed to go back into the oven. Kevin headed out to the living room to relax for a few minutes as my heart continued to sink. I wanted so bad to have dinner on the table when he arrived home. I thought I had timed everything erfectly.
Then, Emma woke up crying as if she had not eaten in days. I sat down to feed her and my mind began to turning into a relentless, tormenting tornado evaluating each and every turn. As Kevin headed out to finish up dinner, the feeling of complete failure overwhelmed me and I began to cry.
"Amy, really, it was just meatloaf," you may be thinking. It wasn't about the meatloaf. It was about the service. I wanted to do the absolute best to minister to my husband and serve the Lord and in my view, I had failed. But, then I realized it came back to "I" again. I was trying to serve the Lord and yet, in my fleshly perfectionism, when it does not work how I wanted it to, I end up turning to myself. I still end up making it about me and my performance and how my siginifcance can so easily be based on how I do.
The meatloaf tasted fine, the veggies reheated, the potatoes were a little dry but still tasted fine, and we at dinner a little later than planned...
