Meatloaf in the Middle

This morning our 4th came into our bed and announced that she wanted to be the meatloaf. Yesterday, we'd played a game where she'd been the baloney in the middle of a parent sandwich, but since it had ended with tearful protests that she didn't want to be the baloney, I thought we'd never play that again. It turns out she objects to the baloney part, meatloaf is fine. We don't eat much balogna these days, just lowfat turkey and ham, maybe that is why I get so happy about leftover meatloaf sandwiches. Meatloaf is so comforting. The ingredients are frugal, so there's no guilt about expense. Mom and everybody else you knew growing up made it, so it's very familiar. And now that I'm an independent grownup, I can make it my way with the stuff I like and very, very crusty from going looooooooooong in the crock pot.
Today is the middle of the Easter holiday. The waiting day. When I was a kid it was a day of snooping and fluffing the frills on my dress. I'd try my little hat on over and over hoping not to get caught. If I was really good, I could even spend a few minutes tap dancing in my shiny new shoes. Saturday seemed very long, and just when you didn't want it to be. I had to wait, but at least I knew good things were coming.
Faith is always certain that good things are ahead, but waiting develops the excellent sauce of hunger. We get so weary and hungry when we have to wait for all those good carrots to stop dangling and start falling. I used to hate the waiting, but as I grow more disciplined in my spritiual life, I've come to think of it like meatloaf--inexpensive, familiar and nourishing. I can enjoy it as a feast of its own because perserverance has produced a little character. Waiting doesn't taste like anything when you first begin to eat it, but give it time. It grows you.