I made it to Waffle House because it was the only thing open. I dried my face and kept my head down in hopes no one would see my splotchy face.
I sat down as my sweet waitress came to serve me.
Hash browns sounded good.
As I waited for them, I pulled out a sketch book and started my D/L list. (Die/Live)
I quickly filled up the D list with reasons I shouldn’t live while I struggled to find anything to write on my L list.
With my hash browns in front of me, I stirred, stirred, stirred them only coming to attention when my waitress asked if everything was good.
I ate a little and wrote a little.
I looked up when my waitress said: “I hope you don’t mind, but you are absolutely gorgeous.”
For someone who not only looked like a punching bag but also felt like one, that hit me deeply.
While I had been sitting there, a middle aged man had parked his nice Lexus and came in. He was neatly dressed in a crisp polo and jeans.
As I was starting to wrap up, he came over, grabbed my check, and said: “Will you let me buy your meal?”
I barely squeaked out “Thank You” as I swallowed a sob.
I found a few dollars to leave on the table, said my double thank-you’s, and let the tears continue their path down my cheeks.
I’ve often said that I’m glad I didn’t act on my suicidal urges because I always pull through and have better days.
Sometimes it takes God using complete strangers to extend grace and kindness that you in no way deserve just so you can know that you’ve been seen, you’re not alone, and you are meant to live.
Even though my thoughts were dark, a little light went terribly far.
Hold on, baby. There will be a better tomorrow.