American Hamburgers

American Hamburgers

I try to find common ground with everyone, doing everything I can to save some.

1 Corinthians 9:22

In 1981 my husband and I were missionaries in New Zealand. There are many things I loved about New Zealand, but after three or four months of eating lamb chops and fish, I was positively desperate for an honest-to-goodness, Texas-style hamburger.

They had a McDonald’s in Wellington, but the beef tasted a little different, and combined with their favorite kiwi juice, their burgers just didn’t satisfy my craving.

One day my friend Lydell, another American, and I spied a sign in a small restaurant window that said, “Real American Hamburgers.” I almost flipped the car over wheeling into the parking lot, and we both jumped out of the car and practically ran into the restaurant.

We ordered two American hamburgers, fries, and Cokes and sat salivating while we waited impatiently for them to be brought to us. Finally they came.

I sat up straighter, put my “serviette” (napkin in New Zealand) in my lap, and smiled at the waitress as she put the plates in front of us. Then she set down our Cokes, saying “There you go, love,” and walked away.

We looked down with anticipation at the hamburgers and were completely dismayed. Their “hamburgers” were two slices of white sandwich bread with thin ketchup, limp lettuce, a soggy tomato, and shaved ham. And the Cokes, in typical New Zealand fashion, had one ice cube for the whole glass.

Lydell and I looked at each other, looked back at the unburgers, looked back at each other, and burst into laughter. We took one sip of the warm Coke, paid the bill, and walked out without taking even one bite. The waitress was a little surprised when I said, “Love, you’ve got a lot to learn about American hamburgers.”

Those wimpy sandwiches were downright un-American! Dell and I drove straight to McDonald’s.

Thank you, Father, for missionaries who are willing to give up their homes and preferences in order to touch the hearts of those who are lost. Amen.