The Waffle in the Cupboard

Years ago, back when I still had kids under my roof and Saturday mornings meant feeding people, I got up at 6 a.m. to make breakfast.

I had it together. I really did. The coffee was brewing. The sugar bowl was filled. The table was set. The waffle batter was mixed and waiting. The waffle iron was heating up. I was basically a Pinterest board before Pinterest existed.

I lifted the lid of the waffle iron, ladle in hand, ready to pour.

And there, staring back at me, was a waffle.

Not a fresh waffle. Not a forgotten-but-still-edible waffle. This was a waffle that had clearly been in there since the last time we made waffles, which based on the evidence appeared to be sometime during the previous administration. It was green. It was fuzzy. It had developed what I can only describe as a personality.

I just stood there. Ladle in one hand, lid in the other, looking at this little science experiment somebody — possibly me — had sealed up and walked away from. The coffee kept brewing. The kids were going to be up soon. And I had a moldy waffle situation that nobody had signed up for.

Here’s what I keep thinking about that waffle, all these years later.

It would have taken about four seconds to deal with it the first time. Open the lid. Take out the waffle. Done. Instead, somebody closed the lid on it, and the lid did what lids do — it kept everything tucked away nice and tidy. Out of sight. Out of mind. Quietly growing whatever it was growing in the dark.

I think about the things I do that with. Not the obvious things. The little things I’d rather not look at, so I close the lid on them and tell myself I’ll deal with them later. The hurt I didn’t want to address. The conversation I didn’t want to have. The small resentment I tucked away because I didn’t have time for it on a Tuesday. None of it disappears. It just… develops a personality.

And eventually the Lord, who is kinder than I deserve, says honey, lift the lid.

I scrubbed that waffle iron for a long time that morning. I bleached it. Some of the coating came off in the process, which I felt vaguely guilty about. But once it was clean, it still worked. In fact, the next batch of waffles came out golden and beautiful and exactly the way waffles are supposed to be.

That’s grace, I think. Not that the mess doesn’t cost you anything — sometimes a little coating comes off in the cleaning. But the thing still works. Maybe better than before. Because now you check.

I don’t remember what we ate for breakfast that morning. Probably cereal. But I remember the waffle.