A Gritty Story

We were holidaying in Gulf Shores, Alabama. My wife and I stopped for breakfast and we experienced a quintessential Southern moment.

The waitress came over, coffee pot in hand, and with a friendly smile said, “good morning to you all, isn’t it a fine morning?” And without waiting for a reply, assuming agreement, she continued, “Would you like some coffee to start? By the way, if you need anything, you just call out ‘Alice,’ and I will be there for you.”

With that enormous greeting out of the way, we ordered breakfast and started to enjoy our coffee. The shop was busy with customers. Most were well dressed, just coming back from church. A few had worn Bibles under their arms. We were clearly in the deep south.

Our new-found friend, Alice, came back with our food.

As she laid my wife’s plate first, I noticed a peculiar substance beside her bacon; the same material was on my plate as well. “Alice,” I inquired, “what is this?” pointing to the gruel.

“Well, honey, those are grits.”

“Interesting, they were not on the list of ingredients on the menu.”

“Well dear, this is the south. You don’t have to want grits, you don’t have to ask for grits, you just get grits.” Then without any hesitation, suggesting a deep familiarity with the sentiment, she continued, “just like God’s good grace. Only difference being, I like my grits with butter.”

Laughing at her own spiritual humour, she turned to another table, “Good morning to you all, this is a fine morning.”

Well, Alice was right; the grits were good. Better with butter.

And she was right about God’s grace as well. “You don’t have to want it, you don’t have to ask for it, you just get it.”