All this eating actual food stuff is faboo (a word I seriously thought Brad said the other day, but he didn’t, which is too bad, because that would have been hilarious), but I have a rules issue. No, I’m not a rule breaker, I’m the ultimate rule follower. Breaking the rules or even thinking about breaking the rules stresses me out. So now we have all these rules about what to eat, when to eat it, how to make it, what yoga position to eat it in, and my mind is whirring with organizing it all. You should have seen me wield the meal-planning spreadsheet last weekend.

But along with rules comes guilt. And not run-of-the-mill guilt, more like I prefer chocolate chip cookies to this good-for-me faux chocolate cake. I’m a cheating cheater! guilt, all without ever having actually deviated from the plan. (I told you. Issues.)

So I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the future. Once Brad is completely healed, God willing, how will we eat? How much effort will we put into our food? How will we teach our children to eat? Truthfully, this hyper-aware way of eating is the only way Brad and I know, so I’m not worried we’ll start downing Twinkies or anything (even though my baseline in evaluating any way of eating is–can I still make and eat a pan of brownies while on this diet?). I’m more concerned with putting food in its proper place. All good things–especially good things–can become an unintentional idol and I don’t want our way of eating, the sources of our food, or our way of preparing meals to be more exalted than God. I don’t want to spend more time poring over ingredients list or tracking down organic endives than I spend reading my Bible and praying. I don’t want to avoid chances to build relationships because my stomach turns at the idea of sharing a conventional meal. I don’t want to be a food snob.

So, in a rare show of perspective my motto has become: this is our lifestyle, not our life.

But a very tasty lifestyle it’s turning out to be:

photos and collage: Brad Linberg

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