Waffle House

Waffle House

The boys and I go to Waffle House on Saturday mornings. Big fun. Except because I am a smart aleck, I call the place Awful Waffle. And Joe hollers out, “where’s my awful waffle?!” Some of those waitresses look like they could take me. Man, I’d hate to fight my way out of a Waffle House. Give me a bar fight anyday.

Stanley Hauerwas says he thinks Christians should have to learn to do masonry work. He says they need to learn the hard work, vocabulary, traditions, and skill of a craft like masonry to get an accurate picture of discipleship. I see what he means. I’d say that learning to be a Waffle House cook would be just as good. I was watching the guy in there this Saturday. He was handling all kinds of orders. And every so often he would say to the apprentice cook, “See how I stacked those orders?” or “Don’t put the rings down yet.” The kid had to learn a vocabulary, a set of skills, how to do it when it was fast and furious. I was and am impressed.


What would it be like if discipleship was like that? If we had mentors who helped us learn the skills, language, tradition, and discipline it takes to be a Christian? See, we think it’s magic fairy dust. We say we are Christians, go to church and that’s it. I was lucky to have people who showed me how to pray, how to go to Scripture, how to visit the sick and imprisoned. At some point, I have to be humble enough to hear a mentor say, “I am going to teach you to be just like me.” That goes against the grain. We all want to find our own way, be individuals. But Jesus did not say, “go figure it out. Whatever works for you. It’s all good.” It’s more like, “I am the way, the truth and the life;” “whoever would be my disciple must take up his cross and follow me.” Did I learn to do it His way? Or do I want the freedom (read: self-indulgence) to find my owe have my own way? We glorify finding “my own way.” But there is only one way, and it is narrow. I am going to need help to navigate correctly. But am I humble enough?

Melissa is at the clinic today. As I wrote before, we are hoping for platelets in the 30s. We’re in this place where we don’t really know what to say to each other. There was this unspoken thing, unspoken til last night: “tell me we’re going to beat this.” “I hope it doesn’t come back.” Maybe that’s why we don’t know what to say, because what we have to say is difficult. I’m writing myself through a script I have played so many times—so many things to say to people that we don’t say because it would make us uncomfortable. But it’s honest. The funny thing is, avoidance doesn’t feel good.