Are there any restaurants that you love but those restaurants hate you?
Let me explain.
There’s a particular fast-food establishment that I adore. I would eat there every day if I could afford it.
But every time I eat there, World War 3 commences in my abominable region. Or abdominal, same thing.
So I’ll vow not never to eat there again! Then three months go by.
“Oh, some fried fish sounds good. I’ve got to go to… nope. I can’t do it. It’s too painful.”
Then a little evil dude pops up on my shoulder. The kind that enjoys watching people race to their houses in a panic, which is the worst kind.
“Oh, go ahead, doofus. They’ve changed the grease in their fryers by now. Don’t be so silly. You won’t get sick this time.”
“But it happens every time! I cave in and regret it approximately fourteen minutes twenty-seven-and-a-half seconds later. I will never drive by the place again.”
“Don’t you need to go to Tractor Supply to pick up feed for your horses?” The evil shoulder dude asks.
“Yes, I do.”
I don’t have horses. But I take a left turn toward the store instead of going home.
The restaurant is on the way, and I don’t make it to the Tractor Supply.
I turn into the drive-thru.
“Yes, I’d like a number three.”
“Will that be all?”
“For now, yes. And hopefully for the rest of the day.”
“That’ll be $237.45.”
Their prices are ridiculous. That should be a deterrent in itself, but it isn’t.
I pull around and wait for three days and nights. That should be another deterrent. It isn’t.
They finally give me the food, and I’m in such a trance by its aroma that I drive with my knees while shoveling down the temporary pleasure. Temporary as in ten minutes temporary.
En route back home where I should have already been. I remember that I needed to go to Walmart. The evil dude didn’t remind me of that because going there, I wouldn’t have passed the restaurant.
I turn into Walmart. Get out of the car. Approach the automatic sliding doors.
And it hits me.
A multitude of hillbilly’s upon the asphalt sea in front of the largest store in town watch as I spin around on a dime, bolt back to my car, and burn rubber out of the parking lot.
Have I ever mentioned that I’m not a fan of congregational bathrooms? Well, I’m not. Especially in times like these.
I’m in the driver’s seat, praying to God Almighty that He miraculously reconstructs the highway. I desperately need it to somehow go directly to my driveway. I’m praying for green lights. I remember a time in the Holy Word where He picked up Philip and set him down where he needed to be.
Honestly, I think I lost my mind for a few minutes there. I am bouncing up and down, swaying back and forth in the car, and making faces at the windshield.
“JESUS, PLEASE, GOD! I WON’T EVER DO IT AGAIN!” I scream toward the sunroof. “I AM TRUSTING AND BELIEVING FOR A PHILIP EXPERIENCE, GOD!”
There’s probably a video of me somewhere on the internet.
Folks, I needed God to intervene. I needed a miracle.
I wanted Him to take it away. Take away the urgency, the fervency, and the extreme amount of sweating.
But that didn’t happen. I guess the miracle was that I made it home.
And to a shower.
to those who can’t seem to stay away,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 