Tattoos and Muumuus

 Several years ago I was having lunch at the new Waffle House, the one over next to Publix. It was new then, at least; but new or not, it still held that special ambiance particular to Waffle House. Perhaps the floor was a little cleaner, the windows a bit less opaque and the “How you doing, Honey?” had a bit more zest to it than normal, but it felt the same. Same black and yellow sign, same wonderful scent of industrial coffee and frying bacon on the air, same welcoming clatter of fine china being washed and the same clientele I have always loved so much.

I have said this before, but I do believe it to be true. I contend that Christ would sit in a corner booth at Waffle House most weekday mornings enjoying some eggs and grits and getting to know the regular folks.

Well, all of that aside, as I sat down in my normal pew, I noticed a woman of about thirty years or so, standing beside the juke box pondering over her selections. She was a striking woman; well, actually, her tattoos were striking in a scary, cadaverous, ghastly sort of way.

She was wearing a tie-dyed muumuu, dyed bright in reds, yellows and greens with just a hint of lavender in the mix; and on her arm, the one facing me, was a tattoo of what appeared to be a severed head, newly removed. So I looked away. I didn’t want to stare too long for fear that her voodoo might win the day.

As I turned back to my grilled cheese, however, I noticed that the rest of her family had magically appeared in the booth next to mine with nary a sound while I was engrossed in my observations. There before me was an interesting mix of people; a tattooed smorgasbord of sorts.

It would appear that my new found friend had a younger sister with similar adornments, perhaps not as bloodcurdling as her sibling’s, but macabre nonetheless. If the matching rings were any indication, my new acquaintance also had a husband in attendance. He was similarly inked with some very artistic, if not ghastly artwork as was the other gentleman present whom I assumed was the younger girl’s boyfriend, or perhaps husband from the familiarity displayed.    

Much to my surprise, mixed in and amongst the crowd was a woman of about my age, and she appeared to be tattoo free. (Generational preference, I reasoned.) I didn’t ask or investigate too rigorously for fear of possible findings; but as far as I could see her canvas remained pristine. Her hair, on the other hand, was tie-dyed in the matching, if not inversed color pattern of the hitherto mentioned muumuu, so momma fit right in.

It was only after I completed my appraisal of the adults that I noticed the little baby boy sleeping in the arms of the sister and the little girl, of about 4 years of age or so, nestled in between her daddy and her uncle.

The unadulterated love shining from the sister as she looked down at her little baby and the paternal pride beaming from the daddy as he sought to teach his little girl the value of the words ‘thank you’ is what awakened me from my revelry and brought my subjects humanity into sharp focus.    

Feeling I was intruding, I adjusted my gaze and looked out the window for a time and just listened. It didn’t take me long to realize that behind that façade of wildness lay a devoted family filled with love for one another, pride in their children and, as it turns out, a love for Christ as well.

I was in my work clothes: khaki pants, maroon polo shirt, and reading glasses of course. I had a notebook and a Bible. I like to study in Waffle House sometimes. So there I was, with my glasses perched halfway down my nose and this shock of grey hair overhanging my wrinkled up face. I was the personification of an out of touch, anything but cool old man.  Lord have mercy, did I look like a square.

As I looked out the window thinking about all of this, I was absentmindedly listening to the tattooed lady at the juke box when she asked her family a question.
 
“Other than Stephen and Damian, did Bob Marley have any other sons that played reggae?”   
 
When I noticed that they were stuck for an answer, I looked up and said:
 
“Ziggy is pretty good.”
 
The sister was the first to grin and then she laughed out loud, followed by the rest. She looked me up and down and said:
 
“Well that’s a surprise. You sure don’t look like you would know that!”
 
I said, “Well, looks can be deceiving sometimes.”
 
In truth, I was saying it more to myself than I was to them.

In a little while our cholesterol laden meals arrived, and in the interim, I admired and played with the children a little and had a good conversation with the family. We actually struck up a short term casual friendship. It was delightful.     

As we turned to our plates to eat, the little girl’s daddy asked me to say grace over the meal. So we all bowed our heads together and thanked the Lord for His bounty, our sudden and surprising friendship and a good laugh.

I left that place with a hint of shame at my jumping to conclusions, but with an inward grin at the lessons taught and a new appreciation for the upcoming generation.
 
The Lord kept throwing this old memory in my path this week as I considered what to write. I think I know why He did it. He has been trying to teach me a lesson, and perhaps we could all benefit from it.

We live in a polarized, hypersensitive, overwrought world. It seems that everyone has taken sides about almost everything these days, and we Christians are no less guilty than anyone else in this matter. In the heat of battle, however, we as the Children of God are called upon to rise above the fray by remembering a couple of things.

First and foremost, every human being that has walked on this planet or ever will walk on it was, is and will be created in the image of God, by God. In turn they are to be treated accordingly, with respect. In today’s climate it is often difficult to remember that. We must keep that in mind or our witness for Christ will suffer.

Secondly, over the years I have been blessed to travel the world, and I have discovered that no matter the race, no matter the language, no matter the locale, no matter the religion, deep down we human beings are pretty much the same. We are all afraid of the dark and in our fear we shatter the peace, joy and contentment that our Creator longs for His children to enjoy.

You, as God’s child, are called upon to be the light that Christ created you to be and in so doing bring peace, joy and contentment to those around you.

And finally, judge not and be not judged.

Wear your muumuu whenever you want to, and I’ll wear my muumuu, too.          
 
Love,
Pastor Tony

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