The Jell-O Disaster

This week’s inspiration comes from Mom and one of the many lessons she taught me. As kids, we often had prominent guest ministers in our home for Sunday dinner. On one occasion, Mom made her famous Jell-O Salad, a congealed fruit cocktail salad, gussied up with fresh strawberries and pecans. She’d made it the night before and refrigerated it so it could set up in its festive decorative mold.

While Dad was chatting with our guest in the living room, we helped Mom with final preparations. As instructed, Forest, then eight, took the mold out of the refrigerator and brought it to the kitchen sink. Mom placed it in warm water so the salad could release from the mold. Rachel, age seven, brought Mom the serving plate while I, age eleven, shredded lettuce for garnish.

And then we watched Mom perform the magic we’d seen her do many times over the years, although none of us had ever been brave enough to try it. She placed the plate on top of the mold and quickly flipped it so the mold was now on top. We held our breath as she lifted the mold, hoping the salad released completely.

It did and we quietly cheered, fist-pumping our mom.

But then, her elbow slipped. The perfectly shaped gelatin lurched, slid off the plate and dropped into the sink, where it promptly slithered down the disposal.

“Mom!” we whispered. “What happened?”

She was silent, staring deep into the abyss of the sink. The only thing left of the salad was an errant grape that was rolling around like a golf ball trying to find the hole.

She sighed and said softly, “Oh, my.”

“Mommy, it’s okay,” Rachel said. “We don’t like that salad anyway.”

“Shh!” Forest practically spat, nudging his elbow into her tummy. “Don’t hurt her feelings, Rae,” he whispered.

I stepped in front of both of them, grateful Mom didn’t seem to have heard them as she kept staring down into the empty sink.

After a moment more, she gathered herself, threw her shoulders back to her usual erect posture, and reached for a towel to wipe the plate. “It’s okay, kids. Accidents happen,” she said as she turned around and flashed a warm smile to us. “Let’s shred some carrots and cut up a green pepper for the salad Becky’s started.”

In less that five minutes,

. . . we’d watched our mother move from elation to disbelief to acceptance-without-blame to recovery-with-a-smile.

What a lesson in resilience!

So grateful for Mom and her many lessons that continue to fuel me through life’s unexpected mishaps.

And on we go. . .

P.S. Make sure and check out my latest podcast with Barbara Landry, one of the most thoughtful interviewers I have had to date. Such good questions!