Wisdom at the Waffle House

It’s a pride thing. I’m sure of it.

Four years ago, I was diagnosed with Celiac disease, an autoimmune illness meaning no more wheat or gluten for me. Eating out is complicated. Sometimes I lie to servers and say, “I’m allergic to wheat.” It’s easier than explaining. I feel awkward being the center of attention and answering so many questions.

I like to pretend I’m like everybody else.

Last Saturday morning my husband and I went to the Waffle House. Ordering is easy.

“Bacon, scrambled eggs, and hash browns. No toast, please”

Good stuff at the Waffle House

A few minutes later our piping hot order was delivered with two pieces of toast on my plate. “Um, I didn’t want toast.”

I can get sick from a few crumbs, but I didn’t want to say that. I needed a clean plate.

The waitress sighed, removed the toast, and handed me my old plate.

Another waitress saw what was happening. It was like she knew me. She looked me straight in the eyes. “Honey, you have Celiac, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“So does me niece. Here, let me get you a new plate. It’s safer.”

I wanted to jump over the counter and hug her neck. She saw the real me and felt compassion.

She smiled. “Here you go. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Oh, that God would give me the same sensitive spirit–a heart that doesn’t rush to judge and understands far beyond what my eyes can see. A heart more like His.

“When the Lord saw her, he felt compassion for her…” Luke 7:13 (NAS)