true consumption
Like many, I have a love/hate relationship with food. I’ll start with the positives: I love food. I’ll eat anything (so long as it’s mostly well-prepared; I’m much pickier about quality than content). I love spicy Thai noodles, rich Indian curries, spicy tuna rolls, chunks of well-marbled and seared beef, roasted broccoli, creamy risotto with crisp asparagus and bright green peas in spring, pasta salad with ribboned zucchini and flecks of pecorino and ripped basil in summer, the combination of sage and butternut squash and browned butter in the fall, hearty chili with homemade skillet cornbread in winter. Really, the only things I don’t like are olives (though I feel like I should like them), iceberg lettuce (it serves no purpose), and black walnuts (they overpower everything remotely near them). Everything else, though, I’ll happily devour. And I did, until I learned I have an autoimmune disease. Which really means I have an inflammation problem. And inflammation, I know now, is inextricably linked to diet.
I dramatically reduced the red beef, pork, and dairy I consume. I cut out gluten entirely. No more tomatoes. No more refined sugar. Now I find myself consumed with guilt if I cheat: should I have left the tomato paste out of the pot of lentils I made? Is it okay to eat corn tortillas with our tacos, or I should I just consume the filling by itself? Am I eating too much rice?
I went to the beach with the girls in my family recently: mom, sister-in-law, aunt. It was the first time I’d left the kids for that long (three nights) and the first time I’d been away from kids without Timothy. Most of the trip was glorious and peaceful, but the places where I felt my soul snag revolved around my food choices. I brought my own breakfast and lunch, so I could make sure I stuck to autoimmune-friendly meals for at least two-thirds of the day, but dinners we ate out, and I ordered dessert afterward. I found out, after I’d had a chocolate cheesecake a few nights in a row from a local restaurant, that that particular dessert wasn’t made in house (most of their sweet treats are) but brought in from Costco.
Now, if you’re in the habit of eating dessert, that might not seem like a big deal. But sugar is a big trigger for my disease, and eating a Costco dessert is decidedly not worth it. A homemade cheesecake from a local beach joint? Sure. A generic slice I could have bought myself at home? Not at all.
The worst part is, I stressed over this. We sat down to watch a move our last night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d cheated for Costco. I do occasionally cheat (on vacation, birthdays, anniversaries). But that’s for something I deem worthwhile: local pistachio gelato, some marvelous tart cherry and blue corn entremet, tiny little truffles from a chocolatier. I don’t cheat for Costco.
You know why this bothered me so much? Because I did enjoy the cheesecake, I’ll have you know, when I thought it was locally made. It bothered me because I’d made a decision I wouldn’t have made if I had all the info, and I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t control it. So I stressed.
Somehow, there’s a way to live between indulgence and deprivation. We can’t give into gluttony; we can’t gorge ourselves on feasts and expect to live in worship if our focus is fixed on our consumption. But we also can’t worship well if we’re devoted to culinary asceticism. Food can worshiped in many ways: by devouring it, by controlling it, by avoiding it. Our hearts can orient around food in ways that seem acceptable, especially if, like me, you can see how food impacts your body.
But how about the way food impacts our hearts? When I stress out over eating Costco cheesecake, I’m missing something: fellowship with other women, peaceful and set aside and protected by the love and sacrifice of our husbands. I’m believing a lie that, by closely monitoring the foods I consume, I maintain control over my health. And I prevent myself from enjoying God’s good gifts.
What would it look like for me to make wise decisions in the foods I consume, but to stop there? To realize: oh, oops. I ate a slice of Costco cheesecake. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known, but I didn’t know, and you know what? It was delicious, on a special occasion worth celebrating, so I celebrated. What would it look like if I thanked the Lord for a weekend away of laughter, refreshment, and zero chores?
I’m reminded of Jesus in the wilderness, right after his baptism, meditating on Deuteronomy in the face of real temptation: “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”[1] I am made for consumption, and I am made to require sustenance for life. But, ultimately, what gives me life is not located in the foods I eat, but in the words I hear. Following Jesus, in a strange way, combines those: I consume scripture, but because the Bible is the living, active, speaking, piercing word of God, I also hear what I eat. I am filled while I am taught; sustained while I am commanded, satisfied while I am guided. So I move on, leaving the Costco cheesecake in the forgettable past where it belongs, tasting and seeing that the Lord is good,[2] and his powerful word is all I need for life and godliness.[3]
[1] Matt 4:4
[2] Ps 34:8
[3] 2 Peter 1:3
