*Preparing for May and Mental Health Awareness Month, I offer you a story and a giveaway. Please read to the end for a chance to win.*

***

Funny how a memory might pop into one’s mind, leaving her asking, “Now, where did that come from?”

This happened to me yesterday. Just standing at my kitchen sink, suddenly, I saw it–a blob of tomato sauce and veggies on a plate, followed by my dear friend Tobi Teeple’s exclamation, “What in the…?”

Okay. So, some backstory.

***

I offered to prepare a meal for our elderly friends after husband to Tobi, a man we affectionately called ‘Grandy Bob,’ underwent surgery. Both were vegetarian, so I’d committed to make a veggie lasagna.

“Mmm.” Tobi seemed to savor the thought over the phone. “That’ll be so nice, dear” and she smacked her lips for emphasis.

Now, it’s not like I’d never made a lasagna before, though most in my family were partial to the carnivorous variety–my humans feasting on this favorite Italian dish packed full with meat, namely ground beef and sausage.

“How hard can it be?” I’d asked our pooch who always stood close by when I was in the kitchen. The wag of her tail told me, Not hard at all.

I’ll admit. I had grandiose visions of ricotta oozing out just so, the layers of zucchini and squash perfectly situated between an abundance of rich and savory marinara.

Meat-schmete, who needed meat?

After the timer dinged, I carefully removed the disposable pan I was proud to have remembered to purchase. “That way Tobi won’t feel the pressure to wash and return it,” I explained to my young daughter. “This one can just be thrown away.” Allie nodded like this was somehow a big deal.

The fragrance of garlic and rosemary wafted through the kitchen as I busied myself with the last remaining details–retrieving the tossed salad I’d prepared, along with a plate of brownies.

Allie and I drove the meal to our friends’ home in nearby Maggie Valley. Grandy Bob greeted us at the door, arms open wide. “Come in! Come in!” he exclaimed, and Tobi rounded the corner as we stepped across their threshold. Her arms, too, were outstretched.

“My, my,” she crooned, taking Allie’s cheeks between her hands and squeezing. “You’ve grown, dear. How old are you now?”

Allie held up three fingers, and Tobi tsk-tsk-tsked. “That old? You don’t say!” Turning to Grandy, “Can you believe it, Bob? Allie’s three.”

He shook his head in disbelief, then, “Time. It’s a thief, that’s for sure.”

Tobi led the way to her kitchen, and I set the basket containing the Teeple’s dinner on the floor. I removed the items one by one, laying each on the counter. I was grateful the disposable pan still felt warm.

Tobi closed her eyes and inhaled with a smile. “I can hardly wait to dig in,” she said, then sighed. “Sure was nice of you to prepare this meal for us. Won’t you stay for dinner, dear?”

I hadn’t considered that. But Allie danced at my feet. “Can we, Momma? Pwease?”

“Perhaps, but just for a bit. Bill and the boys are home, and I hadn’t–“

But before I could finish, Tobi giggled with delight. “Bob, hear that? They’re staying for a spell.” Turning to Allie, “Might’n ya help me set the table, Lambie?”

That was that. Soon, the Teeple dining table was set for four, and our quartet gathered round. We held hands, and Grandy Bob offered thanks, “… for the wonderful meal we’re about to enjoy and the hands that prepared it.”

After amen, Tobi peeled back the foil from the pan, releasing a plume of steam. Once more, the fragrance of garlic and rosemary lingered.

It wasn’t until Grandy Bob inserted the serving knife that I noticed. Something wasn’t right. Had it set up properly? Usually, it only took thirty minutes or so post-oven to form. Then, when cut, squares of the savory goodness could be placed on plates.

But this?

Grandy Bob cleaned his throat. “Let’s try a spoon instead,” the kind man offered. “Perhaps that’ll work better.”

Tobi handed her husband a large serving spoon, and Bob sort of ladled out what looked like tomato, zucchini, squash stew, with soupy cheese. Of course, the blobs didn’t stay put on the plate but, rather, pooled.

“What in the…?” Tobi blushed, then changed directions. “Maybe bowls would be best.” She rose to gather four large saucers which she began placing at each setting. Allie’s gaze followed the elderly woman, her eyes appearing almost as large as the bowls Tobi held.

“Momma, what wrong?”

It was my turn to sense heat rising, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Because I knew. I’d forgotten one basic but vital ingredient, that for which the dish I’d promised was named.

Lasagna.

Indeed, I’d forgotten the noodles. Thus, what I’d created was more a unique form of a French dish rather than the Italian favorite I’d promised.

Leave it to Grandy Bob–the World War II veteran who’d been a prisoner of war, had even lost a leg in a tragic airplane crash, who’d recently had surgery and was near his ninth decade. Of course, this faux pas was, in the grand scheme of things…

Minor.

“Tobi dear, would you be so kind as to replace our forks with…” He stifled a chuckle behind his napkin. “Soup spoons? Seems we’re having… ratatouille! Bon appétit!”

And we did, although Allie chose to simply nibble a brownie, which–after the fanfare–I allowed. After all, eating dessert first just might be a tradition in some country ’round the globe, and, in the grand scheme of things, was indeed a minor.

And all this, because I was…

Missing something.

Still, I’m thankful that God, in His kindness, works things together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purposes (Romans 8:28–paraphrase).

Amen!

***

So, how about you? Have you ever failed in the kitchen? Forgotten an important ingredient? Served up a flop simply because of a missed step?

I’d love to know I’m not alone. That my brain isn’t the only one that sometimes tries to hold more information than possible, doing too many things all at once.

Leave a comment here, and on May 6th, I’ll draw a name from those who participate.

One person will receive my dear friend Amber Weigand-Buckley’s new release Sisterhood of the Short Yellow Pencils.

I promise, you don’t want to miss this book. With wisdom and wit, Amber’s words remind us–God takes the broken and makes something beautiful.

Yes, sometimes even yummy…

Like ratatouille!