Scattered, Smothered & Covered...

The Waffle House waitress shouts to the cook (and the whole county can hear her, by the way)
"Make that scattered, covered and smothered!"

The tattoo'd gentleman in the booth in the corner with bare arms hanging out, grins in agreement from hearing his order. He mumbles under his breath, "That's how I like it. Bring it on."

I'm not the first to take the greasy phrase, "scattered, smothered and covered" and poke fun. Books have been written about it. Albums have been recorded with the same title, specifically "Hootie and the Blowfish" of the early 90s. But for today, I'm not interested in how the hash browns are cooked. I don't care if they're scattered (spread across the grill in grease) or smothered in onions and covered with gooey cheese. Today, I laugh to myself because Waffle House sounds like church to me.

Think about it: Waffle House Church
1. You're greeted with a "shout-out" as soon as you walk in the door
2. You can pretty much sit wherever you'd like, but most prefer the aisle or window
3. If you come forward and sit at the counter, you'll get special attention..
4. The menu is reminiscent of a weekly church bulletin, specials and all!
5. The booths, like hard pews, are not comfortable
6. And hearing "scattered, smothered and covered" sounds more like the sermon title than a shout to the short order cook

So here's what I take home with me:
-Have I become more scattered in thought than I am about scattering and spreading the living gospel?
-Was I smothered so much as a young girl, growing up in a controlled-safe pollyanna-ish environment, that I don't see or care about the hurt and despair of the culture around me?
Am I more worried about my bills, body and bases being covered -  than I am my own sin?
   
Hang around long enough and you'll hear the stories of the waitstaff like testimony time on a Sunday night. This is what Waffle House Church does. I stand up, take my offering to the cash register and walk out the door. The comfort food of the day reminds me of my discomfort with what is uncomfortable to me. I'll return. Many times, in fact. And when I do, I'll be welcomed. I'll be called "hon" or "darlin", and that alone is enough to bring me back.