Meatloaf for My Man (and a blog update)

Hello Friends,

Happy Monday! I hope this finds you rested and well and ready for a new week.

I want to share that for the next few weeks, I'll be posting just once a week - on Monday mornings. We're having especially crazy times with homeschooling, basketball, swimming, and more..sweet goodness all around!

I'd be blessed if you'd continue to meet me here, and hope to return to Monday and Thursday posts after we press through some busy stuff.

May your day hold beautiful things. May you enjoy God's rich blessing.

I'm honored by your friendship, and I am so grateful for your time.

Lovingly,
Shawnelle

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As printed in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Wives:


                                                            Meatloaf for My Man

On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine – the best of meats and the finest of wines. Isaiah 25:6

 “Do I smell meatloaf?” my husband Lonny asked. His eyes were bright and hopeful. When he placed his bag on the kitchen floor and walked to the dining room, I think there was a bounce in his step.

“No, sorry,” I said. I placed napkins around our long, family table. “It’s quiche. But it’s a new recipe. I think you’ll like it.”

Lonny slid his arm around my waist, and his lips grazed my cheek. “Okay,” he said. “But I wish it were meatloaf.”

“I know,” I said. “Poor sweet man. Maybe you’ll strike it rich another night.”

Sometimes, I like to kid Lonny about his affection for meatloaf. The man just loves it. Trouble is, no one else in the house shares his affinity. Lonny and I have five sons, and they’re hearty eaters, easy to please. But not one of them has even the most minuscule appreciation for a morsel of meatloaf. Even I don’t get excited about it. My grandfather used to make a mean one, but that was years ago, and I don’t have his recipe. Plus, I’m a writer, and the word “meatloaf”, in my opinion, leaves a little to be desired.

So we rarely feast on a loaf of meat.

Dinnertime came that evening, and we gathered around the table. I sliced the quiche and handed Lonny his plate.

And as his hands reached out, as we curled our hands around the same plate, something inside me went soft.

Lonny’s had a lot on his shoulders lately. He’s learning a new job at age forty-five. He’s coaching two basketball teams for our smaller sons. One of our teenage boys is dishing out a fair amount of grief. And Lonny, my stable, dependable, no-frills man takes it all in stride.

“The man deserves a meatloaf,” I decided as I dished up another serving of quiche.

The next night, Lonny came home and dropped his bag in the kitchen. “Do I smell meatloaf?” he said.

“Sure do,” I said.

Lonny wrapped his arms around me tight. It would be worth a few grumbles, this smile that smile stretched over on my husband’s dear face.

And making him so happy was pretty simple, after all. All I had to do was to serve “a seasoned rectangular brick of beef”.
 

Father, thank you that I can please my husband in such small, simple ways. Help me to remember these gifts with a willing heart and a ready smile. Amen.