Falling Forward at the Waffle House

In Atlanta, we have these twenty-four-hour restaurants called Waffle House. They are an icon here in the south, simply part of our culture. Countless rites have sprung up around these local hangouts, and they hold a special place in my heart as many moons ago I worked for them. They have been part of my son's and mine’s post-hockey game ritual for many years. But, as you can imagine, being open 24/7, when you go there, the experience is sort of like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates — you never know what you are going to get.

Typically, there’s a mad cacophony of conversation all around you, with waitresses calling out to the cook, dishes banging, the smell of grease, endless coffee, and, in short…mayhem. That’s why we go there.

Sometimes.

But not always.

And so it was with me the other night. It was around 2:00 a.m. and I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t have the greatest day and was having trouble shaking it off. Time for my classic comfort food: a waffle, hashbrowns scattered well, and a cup of coffee (absolutely killed my Keto diet…). Off I go to the closest (we have lots of them!) WH with a book in hand for a quiet, middle-of-the-night contemplation.

Or not.

How many times in your life have you heard the words, “Be careful what you pray for!”. Yea, well, here we go. I walked in, and there were maybe five people in the whole place. Awesome, I’ll just take this table away from the noise and mind my own business.

Yea, right.

I had to walk by this woman sitting at the low counter, and it was obvious she was having a rough time. She had a walker parked next to her, dishes and glasses spread out all over the counter, and she was talking up a storm, but to who? I couldn’t tell. Nobody. She was talking…to nobody. Weird, but if you’ll excuse me, I’m going over here to my table and cry in my coffee.

So I tune her out, order my meal, and settle in reading my book. All is good, except the litany just kept coming. Sometimes, I’m a little slow on the uptake, so it took me a while to realize she was talking to me! Well, not really, because truth be told, I had that funny feeling that that was exactly what was happening. Visions of Robert De Niro looking in the mirror going, “You talking to me…?!” danced through my head. However, I was doing my best not to make eye contact for fear of getting sucked into a maelstrom I couldn’t get out of. On top of that, I’m fighting that small voice that is touting some awful nonsense like angels disguised as someone in need, yada yada…

Damn it, God, why can’t you just let me be miserable in peace! This is MY time, I’ll get back to being that distribution center for your love later.

Of course, the minute those words came out of my “mouth,” I was eating them (pun intended). But in classic Type A fashion, it came with a caveat. “I’m going to finish my meal first, and then I’ll be nice!!” So get off my back. Can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the rest of that meal as I forced it down…

Ok, time to be loving.

I grab my check and head over to her and literally break into her talk and say, “Is there something I can do to help you?”. She didn’t skip a beat and rolled right on with something about her brother, her meds, and a hundred dollars, wanting toast, getting banned from the McDonald’s around the corner, and, well, you know, she was homeless, so the stories go on and on…Breaks your heart. Of course, I got her some toast, but it was 2:00 in the morning, the shelter was closed, and all I could do was get assurance from the waitress that they wouldn’t kick her out until they could call 911 in the morning. I hope that you weren’t waiting for the happy ending. There isn’t one. But here’s the true confession, where I’m going to land the plane: Ugh! Yes, just ugh. Because there is more that I’m not telling you.

About me.

She actually wanted me to take her to the shelter. Said she would sleep outside. But I rationalized that away as imprudent. Maybe it was, and in the end, staying might have been the best thing for her. But where I’m baring my soul is in acknowledging how far short my heart was from unconditional love in setting a limit to my generosity. And it was all about fear. I saw all the ways getting her into my car could turn into a nightmare. Maybe, but if my life is committed to “To know and follow You…” I can only hope that in some way, I fell forward at that Waffle House, and it got me a bit closer to being like Him, despite myself.