remembering grace at the waffle house

Yesterday evening I went to Waffle House. I used to go pretty regularly as it’s a way of life down here. I remember moving to Elon, and trying to get my new friends into the Waffle House experience.

“But I’m not hungry,” they would whine.

“We’re not going to eat,” I’d nearly shout back

Eating isn’t the point (however, it is a nice added bonus).

The point is going, and being. There were three Waffle Houses within a mile of my high school--each with its own group of kids that went there often. I went to the one closest to my church so much during my high school days, that they gave me a menu when I left for college.

When it was all said and done, Waffle House was always there--open, with good food and usually good friends.

Last night, I was meeting my friend, Kellie, at the Waffle House up by the highway. Assuming I would be the first one there (we went to the one far closer to me than to her), I brought a book with me.

The book was Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. The book, which I read once before for a class during my junior year of college, is about Dr. Paul Farmer’s quest to solve the health problems of Haiti. The title comes from a Haitian proverb: “Beyond mountains there are mountains.”

You can imagine how the book goes. I was somewhere in the third chapter where Kidder writes about the policies of Farmer’s rural healthcare center. The one rule that was distinctly Farmer’s and the one which couldn’t be broken, was that no one was turned away. They would help every last patient.

And I realized that is our call--to not turn people away. And in that is the Grace we are given, that we won’t be turned away.

As as Charlie Daniels sawed on that fiddle, playing it hot over the jukebox, I knew that I was glad to be at Waffle House--at a place where the door was open, and smiles waited inside. And I was glad to be reminded of God’s grace--where the arms are open, and love awaits us all.

blessings.

jon.