Food-losophy

I love food. Not just for consuming, though. I love everything about food. I love to read about food, shop for food, study food, grow food, talk about food, cook food, even give food as gifts. Some people might even call me a "foodie."

Most Saturdays year round I find myself at a farmers' market, shopping for the perfect tomato or discussing the benefits of sprouting wheat berries. I know many of the farmers by name, and can even make recommendations back to them on their products.

Food also is the basis of many of my discussions with friends and family. We share recipes, discuss gardening tips, cook for each other and then plan our next meal together. We don't just talk about nutritional content or taste, though those items often are part of the discussion. Food has become a way of life, a cultural phenomenon. We're all just a bunch of foodies, really.

Because food is so central to who I am, however, altering my food habits actually becomes a change in lifestyle. Both for me and those I love. This has been true over the past several years as I have moved toward organic, locally grown, and seasonal food. Making a change like this has taken food out of the primarily social realm and transformed it into a political statement. (If I buy local, am I anti-global?) It's also raised questions about the non-food areas of my life. (If I don't want chemicals on my food, what about my lawn, my clothing, or my hair?)

Then came cancer. In the past year and a half, I have received all kinds of recommendations about what I should and shouldn't eat. As a foodie, I believe in the power of food even in regards to my health. But cancer already has changed so much of my life, does it have to change my food identity too?

I have never believed that what I eat is "just food." There are some obvious reasons to believe that our dietary intake affects our health -- just eat lots of cookies and cake for a few weeks straight, and the scales will confirm that. But I believe there is much more to the effects and benefits of food than that. Not only for our physical health, either. Food is cultural and spiritual and political and social. What we have available and choose to eat defines us and connects us and empowers us and helps us to know Jesus better.

And at the same time, food can become a source of guilt and turned into a commodity and used as a weapon to divide us from those we love because it is so personal and necessary. If I choose local and organic does that mean I think less of you for buying a conventionally grown banana? Or do I need to feel guilty when I occasionally buy bananas for myself? How can I still spend time with friends but choose not to eat at fast food restaurants?

Because food is more than "just food," I want my decisions about food to mean something, not just reflect my passing appetites. So over the past few months, I have been developing my food-losophy. These are the driving values that shape my food choices.

I believe that food is spiritual. Not only did Paul say that I must do all things, even eating and drinking, to the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31), Jesus taught us to ask for the food we would eat each day -- "daily bread" -- and instituted a simple meal of bread and wine as a memorial ritual, to be practiced as we wait for His return. God used the manna and fowl in the wilderness to reveal the stubbornness and ingratitude of the Israelites, and Paul tells us in several of his letters that food is a way we can love one another through abstaining, sharing, and giving. If "what" I eat doesn't matter to God, then at the very least "how" I eat does.

I believe that food is social. As a single adult, I often eat alone. And really I don't mind. But even if I spend a few meals by myself at the table, more often than not food connects me with others. Not only do I go to the farmers' market most Saturdays, but it's an errand I share with friends. We have at times even gone to the grocery store together, and it's definitely more fun that way. But the choices I make about my food aren't made in a vacuum. I care what others think about my food choices, and I try to listen to their opinions. Thankfully, I usually don't have to choose between my food preferences and time with others, but when I am faced with the choice, I weigh the consequences carefully. I want food to connect me to others; not isolate me. There are enough things in the world that separate me from others. I certainly don't want food to. I love others, and food, too much.

I believe food is simple. Recently, I heard an NPR commentator turn the phrase, "You are what you eat," into, "You are what you eat eats." The phrase was used in a story about free-range, grass-fed chickens, but really, since most of our food starts out as a living thing, we ultimately are eating the product of what our food ate. If it's a free-range chicken, then we are eating the product of the grass and bugs. If it's a conventionally-grown vegetable, then very likely we are eating at least some chemical residue from fertilizers, pesticides, and insecticides that were taken in through the roots, stems, or leaves. But it's more than just how the food is grown. I also would rather not buy pre-processed food. As often as I can, I buy ingredients in their most natural state and go from there. Instead of pasta sauce, I'd rather buy tomatoes and garlic. Instead of bread, I'd rather buy flour and yeast. Instead of buying from a retailer who bought from the wholesaler, who bought from the farmer, I'd rather buy straight from the farmer. This way, I control my food from start to finish. Because I am what I eat, too.

I believe food is sustainable. By sustainable, I simply mean that my food habits must be reasonable over time and a variety of circumstances. This value stems primarily from my belief in God's sovereignty over my life. Because the Lord has planned that I would live in the Midwest, and work at a job with a modest salary, and have a love of gardening and cooking, I don't eat a diet primarily of seaweed and oily fish, like salmon. For one thing, seaweed and salmon aren't raised around here, and for another, I can't afford to have it shipped daily. Since I believe that God has me here at this time in this place, I believe that there is a healthful, affordable diet for me right here and now. It may require work and sacrifice. It's not cheap to eat a locally grown, seasonal, organic diet. And at times, I may have to bend on some of my food choices. But this is because my food choices have to be sustainable.

Finally, I believe food is a matter of stewardship. Oh, how easy it is to overspend on the beautiful, fresh food at the farmers market on Saturday, and then throw half of it away the following Thursday because I didn't plan my week or my menus well. Because our individual food purchases are relatively cheap, this is an area that can be full of waste. It's also easy to overlook the potential for growing our own food, or preserving excess through freezing and canning because of the time investment. I recently heard a chef describing his grandmother's habit of using her finger to wipe out every last bit of an egg white when she was baking. That image of an aproned woman gently caressing the inside of an egg shell has become a symbol for me of what it means to be frugal and careful in my food choices.

Sometimes, these values are at odds with each other. Sometimes I am at odds with them all. (It's not always easy to live up to our own beliefs, afterall.) But this is my food-losophy, why I eat the way I do.

Some Changes

For months I have been observing all of the beautiful layouts of my talented blogging friends, yet I persisted in my own mediocrity. Formatting changes can be so cumbersome! Well, today, I finally took the plunge and created a look of my own. I hope this is not too disruptive.

Unfortunately, I redesigned instead of writing -- I am really making an effort to spend more time in front of my computer reaching out to you all. Tomorrow, perhaps.

I also wanted to point out a new friend I just found over at GettingDownWithJesus. We discovered we posted an almost identical picture with eerily similar thoughts (MINE -- HERS) very recently without ever having met. A quick email back and forth, and I know I have run across another kindred spirit. So glad to meet you, Jennifer!

Thanks to all who spend time with me here on these pages.

First Fruits

Tonight, I ate the first fruits of my garden. The leafy greens pictured above have been quietly growing in a make-shift container for the past couple of months. First, I sowed the teensy lettuce seeds in a 12-inch deep cardboard box lined with a garbage bag in my garage back in mid-February. Eventually, I moved the box outside under my plastic tube "greenhouse" for about a month where the magnified sun really turned on the growth. For the past few weeks, the container sat outside under the southeast eave near my garage door thriving in the cool wetness that has characterized our Spring. And tonight, I took the first cutting and enjoyed a delicious salad.

If you've never grown any of your own food, you might not be familiar with the joy of first fruits. For someone like me who grows just a small part of my annual diet, the first fruits are more of a surprise than anything. I did it! I actually grew something I can eat! But in most agrarian cultures, the harvesting of the first fruits was so significant it was celebrated as a religious festival.

Typically, the first fruits were given as an offering, and either burned or eaten by the religious leaders. The harvesters didn't mind giving up the first fruits, however. They were just a sign of the bounty to follow. In fact, the first fruits aren't always the best tasting or high quality pickings of the harvest. Though a long winter of scraping by on last year's leftovers certainly makes them taste pretty good by comparison. (And compared to the shipped-in lettuce we've been eating here in Indiana for the past four months, my lettuce tasted pretty darn good tonight.) No, the value of the first fruits was not in the food itself, but the promise that more food was to come. This year, there will be enough to satisfy.

Though the tradition of the Jewish Festival of First Fruits actually is counted 50 days after Passover, the Apostle Paul links the concept with Resurrection Sunday, calling Jesus the First Fruits of the Resurrection Life to come in one of his letters to the Corinthians. When the pastor quoted this passage yesterday during the Easter service, and I thought of my flourishing box of lettuce growing at home, the message of Easter took on a whole new meaning for me.

After three days in the ground, the Resurrection of Jesus was glorious and victorious. And not only that, it's a promise of even more to come. Enough to satisfy us for eternity.

"For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all will be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the first fruits, after that those who are Christ's at His coming, then comes the end, when He hands over the kingdom to the God and Father, when He has abolished all rule and all authority and power." 1 Corinthians 15:22-24

Messy, beautiful life

Over the past few weeks as Spring begins to take shape, I have been gradually cleaning up the debris of winter again.

I've written many times about collecting the various objects the earth spits out after a winter of freezing and the shifts of thawing, objects left behind in the past by acts of carelessness, forgetfulness, or even malice. This year, I've gathered a few more bottle gaps and pieces of broken glass and scraps of paper. I've also written about picking up sticks and the creative way God "prunes" and "tends" through the destruction of Spring storms. I collected about 10 bundles of sticks and branches so far.

But unlike previous Springs, this year I also found myself with a bunch of leaves to rake. Despite my best intentions and mediochre effort, I did not get the raking done last fall. The front yard was completed, but the flower beds were loaded with leaves and twigs of various sizes, and part of the back yard remained covered, even after five months of blowing around.

So, before the grass in the yard rotted under the wet cover of dead leaves, and before the young perrenials were intimidated by the darkness of that soggy blanket, I got the rake out and went to work. Out with the old; make way for the new. Without cleaning out the dead things, there would be no possibility for the new life.

And then one day I found myself laying on a bed of leaves in the middle of a forest. I was in a nearby state park attending a prayer summit hosted by my church. We were given an hour to spend by ourselves praying, and as I had had a very hectic week, I decided to just find a place in the forest to lie down. As I was marvelling at how tall and thick the trees were, it dawned on me that the forest seemed to be full of life despite an obvious lack of raking. Why did I have to rake my leaves at home to get life, but here, life seemed to come out of the leaves?

The difference is what I am growing. Most living things need the benefit of the sun, and if they are so small that a bed of leaves covers them up, then they get cut off from their source. A forest of massive trees, however, can still connect with the sun, even if the floor is covered with leaves. The leaves aren't bad; in fact, the decomposing leaves add a lot of nutrients to the soil that helps plants grow. But the soil is only part of the growing process.

I found this metaphor at work all over my life. It seems I too have seasons where life gets messy, and in order for anything new to grow, Jesus has to help me clean things up. The last few weeks have been a Spring for the spiritual part of me, too. The past year and a half since my cancer diagnosis have left some bad habits and paralyzing anxieties that Jesus is raking up so I can get a little more sun in my life. He has some new things to grow in me that are just taking root.

But there's also an aspect of my life and faith that is firm and established, and Jesus is leaving things a little messy. Things like my singleness and disappointments over relationships, financial burdens and some chronic pain are not preventing me from growing; the sun can still get through over them. Eventually, they'll return key nutrients to my life and actually help me grow.

Unlike the leaves in my yard and the leaves in the forest, it's not always so easy to know what parts of my life I need to work to clean up and what part I just need to rest in. Oh, that Jesus would give me the wisdom to know the difference.

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I've heard from a few of you that you still check this blog every week, even though I haven't been very faithful to write regularly. My friends over on FaceBook are feeling similarly neglected. I found myself in an extremely busy season over the past couple of months. And now I am trying to find a way back to sanity. Hopefully, I'll be here at least a little more regularly soon. Bless you for still coming.

I am doing well physically. I continue to have some minor pain around the area of my second surgery. However, the doctors are pretty confident, given my good CA-125 levels over the past several months, the consistency of the pain, and how good I feel otherwise, that this pain is just adhesions or scar tissue. This is apparently pretty common after major abdominal surgeries like I have had.

My next round of tests will be in middle to late May.