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continued from page “Amber,” ….

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“Amber,” she said looking hard into my eyes, “I’ve witnessed the best of humanity under the Waffle House roof — everyday acts of charity, love, and courage.”

I looked around at the other faces in the restaurant with us that day. Everyone — staff and customers — was smiling and being kind to one another. Strangers weren’t strangers any more. They were all new friends just sharing a few moments of the day.

In today’s world of dueling opinions and political conflict, of “us and them” mentalities, welcoming, nonjudgmental experiences are rare. Somehow, Waffle House has found a way to help us celebrate our similarities and bind us back together, because let’s face it, we are all the same deep down inside. I don’t know how they achieve this grand feat, but they do. It’s miraculous. We paid our bill and headed out the door into the real world again. But weeks later, I am still thinking about Waffle House. I won’t let thirty-something years go by before visiting again. I’m going back soon, and this time, I’m taking my husband with me.

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