Learning to Live in the Gray

I was well into my thirties before I realized that my mind doesn’t work the same as everyone else’s mind. I don’t see gray, I see black or white. There is no middle ground – you either are or you aren’t, you’re in or you’re out. Some people think outside of the box, and I live inside of it. I cannot attribute it to my raising, because none of my siblings live with this struggle, and I don’t think either of my parents do either. My father struggles with a lot, but he has covered so much with drug abuse and anger, it is really difficult to know what he has buried inside of him.

Years ago, when I decided to give up cigarettes, I also gave up gambling and alcohol. Having gone through a recovery program, I often heard, “Wow, I don’t know how you gave everything up at once.” Although I never said it, I always thought, “I don’t know how you didn’t.” To quit smoking but continue to drink would have been gray to me, and that was a foreign space that I had no idea how to navigate. I was either addicted or I was not – the substance or device was irrelevant. That is why, when I decided to begin this food journey, it was so important for me to build grace into the plan.

Twenty eight days ago, I started with the juice fast. And then I went completely plant-based for a full two weeks after that. My intention was never to become a vegan, or even a vegetarian, but merely to modify my diet. I wasn’t sure when I began whether the changes would be long or short-term, and honestly, I am still not sure what the future looks like. On day 22, I had some cheese. I ordered soup at one of my favorite restaurants, and it came with a little cheese on it – and I just stirred it in and ate it. I didn’t feel guilty, and I didn’t feel like a failure. I just ate the soup. My son got sick and wanted popcorn with butter on it, so I made him some popcorn and drizzled on more butter than I should have. He and I sat on the couch and shared the popcorn while I pumped fluids into his dehydrated body. I know these things seem like small things to most people, but to me, they were huge victories. The absence of shame and the presence of grace will always equal victory for me. I have eaten a little bit of meat (in chili or casseroles), but when I went grocery shopping the other day, I looked at the meat and didn’t want it. I knew I needed to buy some for my family, but I was not at all interested in it – so I didn’t buy any. I did buy a few slices of cheese, and some Almond Roca, but mostly because my daughter begged me.

This is uncharted territory for me – the middle of the road.

People talk about the middle of the road as though it were unacceptable. Actually, all human problems, excepting morals, come into the gray areas. Things are not all black and white. There have to be compromises. The middle of the road is all of the usable surface. The extremes, right and left, are in the gutters.

Dwight D. Eisenhower

If I don’t learn to walk in the middle of the road, I am going to fall back into my old habits, and I don’t want to do that. The wound that would not close is nearly closed. A month ago, I was using a large cotton pad to absorb the fluids that would drain out of it. Just a week ago, the skin broke in another place and I was concerned that the two holes would meet and I would be going for stitches. But today, I have a small band-aid covering the wound and there is hardly any fluid oozing out. I am pleased with the changes in my body – I feel better! I went for a bike ride with my daughter last week – and I was pain free! PAIN FREE! I have not been able to say that in years.

Through all of this, my God is right beside me – correcting me, healing me, loving me, teaching me, guiding me. More than once He has reminded me that it’s not food that heals, it is God that heals. Although this wasn’t intended to be a spiritual journey, it has certainly evolved into one. I have said so many times over the past couple of years, “God, I know this is a small thing for you. You possess the power to heal in the palm of your hand.” What I failed to see, though, was the sacrifice behind the power. When an elder preached about The Other Side of the Cross, I began to see Jesus, hanging on the cross. His flesh wounded, mangled so bad that some believe His internal organs may have been visible beneath the flesh. It is easy to say, casually, “By His stripes we are healed,” almost as though it were an anthem. That scripture tells us that we are healed, but it also tells us that is is because of His sacrifice. Is anything too hard for God? (Genesis 18:14,Jeremiah 32:17,Jeremiah 32:27,Luke 18:27) Of course not, He does possess the power to heal. As I ask for the healing power, I had better remember the sacrifice.