Waffle Breakfast (Part 1)
I want to take you with me to a Saturday morning in West Africa, where the director of the mission hospital and his family opened their home every Saturday morning to the entire team. It was a standing invitation, an open invitation, and for a couple hours every Saturday morning, people gathered around a table.
It was several tables, rather, of differing heights and widths all pushed together, stretching from the front door almost all the way to the back. We crowded chairs around those tables, and people with heights and widths as different as the tables we sat around sat together and passed the eggs and the waffles and the mango jam and lemon curd.
Not only did we share breakfast, we shared life. And life in West Africa was not easy. The tiresome, endless work at the hospital was not easy. Standing face to face with poverty and suffering and pain was not easy. Dealing with death was not easy. Ministry among people who were lost apart from Christ and didn’t seem to know it or even care was not easy. Living in the heat and dust was not easy.
But for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings, we could take our shoes off at the door, gather around a table in a home, and look forward to more than a waffle, but a sweet Christ-centered community that does life together.
Saturday mornings were simple, but there was something sacred about it. When I came back to the United States of America, I didn’t know if I could ever recreate it, but I was going to try.
When I moved into my new apartment, I had nothing but a couple of bags of personal belongings. No job, not much money. In the matter of a couple of weeks, my support team (special thanks to Immerse Arkansas, Fellowship Bible church, New Life church, and Mama Pat) furnished my entire apartment. Walking around, I recognized that none of this actually belonged to me; I didn’t work for or earn any of it. This made it incredibly easy to view my apartment not as my own, but as a gift given to me from God, a gift not to be protected as my “personal space” but rather to be shared with others. It was time to inaugurate Waffle Breakfast.
I proceeded to invite pretty much everyone I know. I had the eggs, the bacon, the waffle mix, everything prepped and ready to go, until I realized a few days before that I lacked an essential, irreplaceable item - a waffle maker. There is no real substitue for a waffle maker when it comes to making waffles, so me in my limited budget searched Little Rock Goodwills frantically for a waffle maker...to no avail. I was about to bite the bullet and purchase one from Bed, Bath & Beyond (those things are expensive, y’all) when a friend invited me over for dinner on a weeknight. Since I had Waffle Breakfast on the mind and was in the mood for inviting everyone I know, I invited her and her new husband. They excitedly accepted and then said (without knowing my current economic dilemma), “Hey, do you need a waffle maker? We got two for our wedding, and you can have one!”
And that’s the story of how God has provided literally everything I have needed in my apartment, especially for Waffle Breakfast. I felt like Hagar proclaiming, “He is the Lord who sees me.”
My eyes popped open on Saturday morning, and I went to work making waffles in anticipation of who would come. A sudden thought hit me, and I turned it into a sigh and a prayer: Lord, its okay if no one comes. You see, in this day and age, Americans have a thousand things to do on a Saturday, (our generation also has a serious lack of commitment) and no one had actually told me 100% that they could come. So here I am, making dozens of waffles, beginning to think that me and Jesus would have to eat them all ourselves.
As I stirred eggs, I heard a knock knock on the door, and I joyfully welcomed my first guest and put her to work flipping bacon. Soon, another joined us in the kitchen, and another. Before I knew it, there were fourteen people - all in my kitchen, which is probably only 15x15 feet, and thats including all the appliances and the washer and dryer. People were sipping coffee and getting to know one another. They were black and white, believers and searchers, friends from old and a new acquaintance from the coffee shop the day before. There were probably five different conversations going at once, and I had to hold the egg shells over my head to squeeze by people and make it to the trash can. “You guys, there is the whole house! We don't have to all be in the kitchen!” I practically yelled over the warm conversations. But everyone just shrugged their shoulders and went back to talking, and I continued to bump into people as I served up waffles. My heart was so, so full.
I learned from a missionary couple in East Africa that just as our bodies need food, so our spirits need spiritual food. No matter how busy we are, we make the time to stop and eat three times a day to feed our physical bodies, how much more should we do so with our spirits! Their practical way to do this was to read and discuss a passage from the Word of God after every meal. Being so impacted by this practice, I decided to implement it in my own life, which inevitably transferred over to waffle breakfast.
I shared this very story with the collective assortment of people gathered in my apartment for the first Waffle Breakfast, and together we read a Psalm, posed a discussion question, and then went back to our conversations having received a bite of spiritual food for our hearts.
Now that we have had a couple of months worth of Waffle Breakfasts, people are getting the hang of it, so much so that they will ask for “spiritual food” before they have even finished their waffles.
Now that we have had a couple of months worth of waffle breakfasts, people don’t need a reminder on Friday nights. They know they don’t have to ask if its happening, because it always is. They know they can come and bring friends if they wish. They know they don’t have to knock at the door, but that they can walk right in. They know to take their shoes off at the door and make themselves at home. They know that they can linger afterwards, because sometimes we hang out until well after lunch time, and sometimes our hang out turns into a time of prayer and worship for those who decide to stay.
The most regular and consistent people who come are those who are friends from Immerse Arkansas, youth who have come out of some crazy life situations and are transforming from victims into overcomers. One young man stood in the kitchen with me one Saturday morning, taking bites of waffle in between sentences as he told me about his week. Every once in a while, he would interject, “I really like this waffle,” and I would smile and say, “I’m so glad” and then go back to whatever we were talking about. A few minutes later, he would interrupt again, “You know, this is better than Waffle House,” and I would chuckle and agree and go back to the conversation. The third time, he said, “I like this place; I feel good here.” And my heart did a little flip and I told him, “Part of it is probably that delicious waffle, and the other part is Jesus in this place that makes it so good. You are welcome here anytime.”
Another friend stayed late one Saturday to help wash dishes. “You know, you are the first person to do something like this. But it’s something we’ve all be craving.”
It’s true, I think. We crave real face-to-face community in a world saturated with false connectedness through technology and social media. We crave slow Saturday mornings in a world that is fast-paced. We crave the chance to linger when we normally have to be productive. We crave something consistent and regular, something that you know will be there and you know the people who will be there. We crave just getting to walk in without knocking and belong, instead of having to navigate around privacy and personal space and busy schedules and all the walls we put up without even realizing it.
Because life in Little Rock is hard, too. We stand face-to-face with poverty and suffering and people’s pain here, too. Work is hard and endless here, too. Living counter-culturally in a world that idolizes accumulation, business, and comfort/security is hard, too. But for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning, we can gather around a table and share life.
It’s simple, and it’s sacred. It’s a piece of Africa brought back to America, and more than that, it’s a piece of the kingdom of God come from heaven to earth as people share genuine community and connection, which is not hard to cultivate really. Africa taught me how. It’s the ingredients of:
time without bookends
space to gather
an open door to come as you are and belong
genuine hospitality
and authentically caring about people.
Plant those seeds, fertilize it with some food and spiritual food, and connection grows naturally. I’ve tasted and seen of it through something as simple and sacred as Waffle Breakfast in both Africa and America. I figure that’s something that transcends cultures and continents, and that’s what I think life must be about: Connecting to God, connecting to others, and connecting others to God.
It was several tables, rather, of differing heights and widths all pushed together, stretching from the front door almost all the way to the back. We crowded chairs around those tables, and people with heights and widths as different as the tables we sat around sat together and passed the eggs and the waffles and the mango jam and lemon curd.
Not only did we share breakfast, we shared life. And life in West Africa was not easy. The tiresome, endless work at the hospital was not easy. Standing face to face with poverty and suffering and pain was not easy. Dealing with death was not easy. Ministry among people who were lost apart from Christ and didn’t seem to know it or even care was not easy. Living in the heat and dust was not easy.
But for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings, we could take our shoes off at the door, gather around a table in a home, and look forward to more than a waffle, but a sweet Christ-centered community that does life together.
Saturday mornings were simple, but there was something sacred about it. When I came back to the United States of America, I didn’t know if I could ever recreate it, but I was going to try.
When I moved into my new apartment, I had nothing but a couple of bags of personal belongings. No job, not much money. In the matter of a couple of weeks, my support team (special thanks to Immerse Arkansas, Fellowship Bible church, New Life church, and Mama Pat) furnished my entire apartment. Walking around, I recognized that none of this actually belonged to me; I didn’t work for or earn any of it. This made it incredibly easy to view my apartment not as my own, but as a gift given to me from God, a gift not to be protected as my “personal space” but rather to be shared with others. It was time to inaugurate Waffle Breakfast.
I proceeded to invite pretty much everyone I know. I had the eggs, the bacon, the waffle mix, everything prepped and ready to go, until I realized a few days before that I lacked an essential, irreplaceable item - a waffle maker. There is no real substitue for a waffle maker when it comes to making waffles, so me in my limited budget searched Little Rock Goodwills frantically for a waffle maker...to no avail. I was about to bite the bullet and purchase one from Bed, Bath & Beyond (those things are expensive, y’all) when a friend invited me over for dinner on a weeknight. Since I had Waffle Breakfast on the mind and was in the mood for inviting everyone I know, I invited her and her new husband. They excitedly accepted and then said (without knowing my current economic dilemma), “Hey, do you need a waffle maker? We got two for our wedding, and you can have one!”
And that’s the story of how God has provided literally everything I have needed in my apartment, especially for Waffle Breakfast. I felt like Hagar proclaiming, “He is the Lord who sees me.”
My eyes popped open on Saturday morning, and I went to work making waffles in anticipation of who would come. A sudden thought hit me, and I turned it into a sigh and a prayer: Lord, its okay if no one comes. You see, in this day and age, Americans have a thousand things to do on a Saturday, (our generation also has a serious lack of commitment) and no one had actually told me 100% that they could come. So here I am, making dozens of waffles, beginning to think that me and Jesus would have to eat them all ourselves.
As I stirred eggs, I heard a knock knock on the door, and I joyfully welcomed my first guest and put her to work flipping bacon. Soon, another joined us in the kitchen, and another. Before I knew it, there were fourteen people - all in my kitchen, which is probably only 15x15 feet, and thats including all the appliances and the washer and dryer. People were sipping coffee and getting to know one another. They were black and white, believers and searchers, friends from old and a new acquaintance from the coffee shop the day before. There were probably five different conversations going at once, and I had to hold the egg shells over my head to squeeze by people and make it to the trash can. “You guys, there is the whole house! We don't have to all be in the kitchen!” I practically yelled over the warm conversations. But everyone just shrugged their shoulders and went back to talking, and I continued to bump into people as I served up waffles. My heart was so, so full.
I learned from a missionary couple in East Africa that just as our bodies need food, so our spirits need spiritual food. No matter how busy we are, we make the time to stop and eat three times a day to feed our physical bodies, how much more should we do so with our spirits! Their practical way to do this was to read and discuss a passage from the Word of God after every meal. Being so impacted by this practice, I decided to implement it in my own life, which inevitably transferred over to waffle breakfast.
I shared this very story with the collective assortment of people gathered in my apartment for the first Waffle Breakfast, and together we read a Psalm, posed a discussion question, and then went back to our conversations having received a bite of spiritual food for our hearts.
Now that we have had a couple of months worth of Waffle Breakfasts, people are getting the hang of it, so much so that they will ask for “spiritual food” before they have even finished their waffles.
Now that we have had a couple of months worth of waffle breakfasts, people don’t need a reminder on Friday nights. They know they don’t have to ask if its happening, because it always is. They know they can come and bring friends if they wish. They know they don’t have to knock at the door, but that they can walk right in. They know to take their shoes off at the door and make themselves at home. They know that they can linger afterwards, because sometimes we hang out until well after lunch time, and sometimes our hang out turns into a time of prayer and worship for those who decide to stay.
The most regular and consistent people who come are those who are friends from Immerse Arkansas, youth who have come out of some crazy life situations and are transforming from victims into overcomers. One young man stood in the kitchen with me one Saturday morning, taking bites of waffle in between sentences as he told me about his week. Every once in a while, he would interject, “I really like this waffle,” and I would smile and say, “I’m so glad” and then go back to whatever we were talking about. A few minutes later, he would interrupt again, “You know, this is better than Waffle House,” and I would chuckle and agree and go back to the conversation. The third time, he said, “I like this place; I feel good here.” And my heart did a little flip and I told him, “Part of it is probably that delicious waffle, and the other part is Jesus in this place that makes it so good. You are welcome here anytime.”
Another friend stayed late one Saturday to help wash dishes. “You know, you are the first person to do something like this. But it’s something we’ve all be craving.”
It’s true, I think. We crave real face-to-face community in a world saturated with false connectedness through technology and social media. We crave slow Saturday mornings in a world that is fast-paced. We crave the chance to linger when we normally have to be productive. We crave something consistent and regular, something that you know will be there and you know the people who will be there. We crave just getting to walk in without knocking and belong, instead of having to navigate around privacy and personal space and busy schedules and all the walls we put up without even realizing it.
Because life in Little Rock is hard, too. We stand face-to-face with poverty and suffering and people’s pain here, too. Work is hard and endless here, too. Living counter-culturally in a world that idolizes accumulation, business, and comfort/security is hard, too. But for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning, we can gather around a table and share life.
It’s simple, and it’s sacred. It’s a piece of Africa brought back to America, and more than that, it’s a piece of the kingdom of God come from heaven to earth as people share genuine community and connection, which is not hard to cultivate really. Africa taught me how. It’s the ingredients of:
time without bookends
space to gather
an open door to come as you are and belong
genuine hospitality
and authentically caring about people.
Plant those seeds, fertilize it with some food and spiritual food, and connection grows naturally. I’ve tasted and seen of it through something as simple and sacred as Waffle Breakfast in both Africa and America. I figure that’s something that transcends cultures and continents, and that’s what I think life must be about: Connecting to God, connecting to others, and connecting others to God.
“We were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our very lives as well.”
I Thessalonians 2:8
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