My Mother's Amazing Meatloaf Mystery (standard:Inspirational stories, 923 words)
Author: Godspenman	Added: May 07 2005	Views/Reads: 3889/2482	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Every mother harbors a mystery of some sort. Many handed down from one generation to the next forming a bond so strong no man can penetrate. I came to realize this at an early age, which has stood me in good standing throughout life. Namely, don't mess wi

Every mother harbors a mystery of some sort. Many handed down from one
generation to the next forming a bond so strong no man can penetrate. I 
came to realize this at an early age, which has stood me in good 
standing throughout life. Namely, don't mess with female secrets. 

It all started at a church fellowship supper, which is usually the
centerpoint of any good church. Attend just one church fellowship 
supper and you learn everything that needs to be known about that 
church. These functions, as you might guess, are supervised entirely by 
the women of the church. 

My mother's mystery had roots at a church fellowship supper. Everyone
was expected to bring their signature dish. 

For example, everyone knew Sister Grace's signature dish was her sweet
potatoes topped with marshmallows. Nobody in her right mind would dare 
bring a similar dish. Also, Sister Sylvia always brought the mashed 
potatoes with gravy, which everybody agreed would be a featured plat du 
jour at the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Sister Eloise's contribution 
was apple pie to die for, and the list went on and on. 

Of course, being new to the church we did not understand this culinary
dynamic. So, when we were invited to the first church fellowship supper 
the head lady asked my mother what dish she would bring. Not really 
having such a dish, my mother casually mentioned meatloaf, which seemed 
to settle the issue. 

For some reason the church fellowship supper slipped our mind and the
evening before my mother suddenly remembered. "Oh, my," she exclaimed, 
"I forgot to make the meatloaf." 

Being a practical-minded person, she simply went to one of her favorite
markets, purchased a freshly made meatloaf and brought it home and 
"doctored it up," as she said. That settled, she thought no more about 
it. 

The next day at the church fellowship supper, we arrived bearing our
store- bought meatloaf. How were we to know this was anathema at the 
church? We were just delighted to be with the rest of the church people 
enjoying the delicacies. I will never forget the great spread we 
encountered. So much food, so little stomach. 

Fifteen minutes into the eating portion of the fellowship supper, people
began complementing my mother on the meatloaf. "This is," one lady 
proclaimed, "one of the best meatloaves I have ever tasted." Then she 
said something that sent my mother into a panic. "You just must give me 
the recipe for this delicious meatloaf of yours. I've never had 
anything like it before." 

Right about here an awful thought dawned on my mother. From bits of
conversation heard here and there, she realized each dish was a special 
dish and if anybody knew hers was store-bought, she would be in serious 
trouble. 

All the ladies took great pride in their special dishes at the church
fellowship supper and would not be caught dead with a dish from the 
store. So, my mother faced a special dilemma. On the one hand, she 
couldn't lie and take credit for something she didn't do, but on the 
other hand, she was backed into a serious corner. 

I, being young at the time, did not understand all that was going on,
but I could tell my mother was in a lot of distress. Then, like the sun 
rising in the morning, her face lit up and a big smile crawled across 
her face. 

"Ladies," she giggled with delight, "I could never give away the family
secret recipe." 

As silly as this seemed to me then and now, all the ladies of the church
nodded knowingly and that was the end of it. Every woman knows every 
other woman, especially mothers, have secrets they cannot divulge. This 
goes double for secret recipes from the kitchen. They understood 
certain confidences are not to be breached. 

This spawned a new dilemma for my mother. She was now expected at every


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