Whitney Williams: Tostadas and the aroma of Christ

NICK EICHER, HOST: Today is Tuesday, June 6th. Good morning! This is The World and Everything in It from listener-supported WORLD Radio. I’m Nick Eicher.

MARY REICHARD, HOST: And I’m Mary Reichard. In Second Corinthians, the Apostle Paul says Christians are the aroma of Christ. But have you ever stopped to wonder what that aroma smells like? Here’s WORLD Commentator Whitney Williams.

WHITNEY WILLIAMS, COMMENTATOR: You know how certain smells can take you back to another time, place, or person? Polo cologne takes me back to my Papaw’s arms. The smell of Play-Doh puts me in the front seat of my high school bestie’s yellow VW Bug. And the smell of Tex-Mex, well, that takes me back to my time on the border. AT On the Border, I should say–you know, the Mexican grill and cantina? I worked there during my sophomore year of college—smelled like a tostada my entire fall semester.

Black button-up shirt with a sour cream sheen, solid black, greasy slacks, and black non-slip shoes with guac in the cracks—that was my attire at least three nights a week and during that time, the battle between my old self and my new self was RAGING.

Now, you must understand, my new self wasn’t new new. I’d grown up in church, was on my youth group’s leadership team, the worship team. I did all of the camps and choir tours–even thought God was calling me to be a missionary, at one point. My faith was real, but still, I found myself looking for love, satisfaction, and worth in all the wrong places, which led to a lot of sinful decisions.

In a particularly low moment of my prodigal journey, a group of four Christians slid into one of my booths at On the Border. How’d I know they were Christians, you ask? Well, first off, they looked me in the eyes and called me by name. (Now, I know that’s not the perfect litmus test for a believer, but in my experience as a waitress, it’s about 97 percent accurate).

“Well, Whitney,” a 30-something pastor-ish-looking guy said, “we’re about to pray together to thank Jesus for our meal. Is there any way we can pray for you today?”

“Oh, no no no,” I remember thinking, figurative hands raised in defense, “no, you’ve, you’ve got this all wrong. No, you see, I’m one of you!” as if this man’s offer to pray for me held judgment behind it. But I wasn’t one of them, and in that moment, my convicted conscience knew it.

I don’t remember how I answered those people that day, nor do I remember their prayer or what kind of tip they left me. I just remember the moment as a wake up call; I remember my insides screaming: “What am I doing?! That’s who I am! That’s how I’m supposed to be! Not this!” Now, did my life change right then? No, You see, I was looking at the wrong things. I was looking inward at myself, my works, my worth, my righteousness, or lack thereof, instead of looking to the worthy One who was and is righteous for me.

It took a while, but once my view changed, everything changed. And now I ask every waitress how I can pray for her! No, not really, but hey, if that was you in the back left corner booth, Waco, Texas, fall 2007, thanks for being a pleasing aroma during my time on the border.

I’m Whitney Williams.

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