Sitting outside the Comfort Zone

I hate those tall chairs that are now so popular in many restaurants. They sit alongside a high countertop, typically next to a window. I suppose the goal is to provide seating for those who are dining individually, leaving tables and booths available for groups. But let’s be honest, who actually sits in those high seats?

Adventurous 4-year-olds, that’s who.

One September day my daughter and I were enjoying a rare lunch date, just the two of us, at Qdoba. We navigated the ordering process, which is an adventure in itself; a million possible options and combinations and she insists on a bowl of plain white rice, every time. But I digress.

I glanced around the dining area, which was packed with busy, well-dressed patrons on their lunch hour, eating quietly and efficiently while checking their Twitter feeds on their phones or trying to squeeze in impromptu meetings with colleagues. I let out a heavy sigh as I thought about trying to introduce my high-energy, high-volume 4-year-old in the mix.

And then I spotted it: the coveted back corner booth. It was perfect. It was in a quiet spot away from the rest of the diners. One side backed up to a wall, which meant I could easily confine my daughter there without worrying that she'd be dripping nacho cheese over the back of her seat onto the shoulder of the suited person seated on the other side of us. (Yes, I know I said she only ordered rice, but somehow she still always comes out covered in nacho cheese). Most of all, she could climb in and out of that solid bench a thousand times during that brief meal with little to no risk of falling and hurting herself. In short, it was the holy grail of restaurant seating for a small child. I pointed her in the proper direction and began the journey with the purpose and intensity of an early American settler trying to stake her claim on a plot of land. Unfortunately my little Laura Ingalls Wilder had set her sights on another piece of property.

“Nooooo!” she said, stopping dead in her tracks. “I want to sit there!”

She pointed at a tall chair sitting next to a high counter at the window.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” I argued. “How about that nice booth in the back? We can spread out and have plenty of room back there.”

“But I want to be able to look out the window!” she persisted.

I could feel a logjam forming around us and knew that we were probably only seconds away from dumping our food and drinks on the floor. I reluctantly acquiesced.

“All right. Counter it is.”

I put our food on the counter, tucked my purse under a chair and then prepared myself for the acrobatic performance that was about to ensue. I held onto the back of the chair to steady it and watched my 4-year-old begin her precarious ascent. I had watched my children flip chairs like these a dozen times before and picked them up off the floor in tears, but I knew well enough not to simply lift her into the chair; she was determined scale it herself. Though I’m sure it took only seconds for her to reach her seat, I might as well have been watching all 90 minutes of “Into Thin Air.” I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable tumble, secretly envious of the family that now had my corner booth in the back. But this time there was no tumble. She made it to the top, then smiled gratefully for the opportunity to finally get to sit where she wanted.

I sat down next to her, relieved. As I took a hungry bite of chicken taco and glanced out the window, I noticed a row of golden trees outside. To many, this subtle change in seasons might not seem significant; it’s a reminder that it’s time to pull the sweaters out of storage, and that’s about it. But to me, it was everything. Though I see God’s presence in my life daily, in autumn I feel completely immersed in it. Orchards filled with ripe apples, fields lined with golden corn and little pumpkin patches dotted with tiny pie pumpkins are all reminders that God provides us with everything we need to nourish our bodies, just as rolling hills emblazoned with fall colors seem to be God’s way of nourishing our souls.

It was the first bit of autumn color I had seen that year, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed had I not stepped—or rather sat—outside my comfort zone. We’ve all found ourselves dragged outside our comfort zones, often against our will. Perhaps it’s through an unexpected career change, an unplanned relocation, or the beginning or ending of an important relationship. I think it’s human nature (or at least my human nature) to be resistant to these changes—but how often do they lead us to a new perspective on God’s love?

By Kathy Deters