Cold Turkey

I stopped eating iceberg lettuce years ago.

I’d read that it had no nutritional value.

Empty. Pointless. Not worth it.

So, I gave it up.

Cold turkey.

Bring on the green leaf and red leaf lettuce.

The ones that can barely hold up the mayo.

Because it has more vitamins. (Read in a slightly whiny voice.)

It feels ridiculous now.

To give up something I absolutely loved because it was unworthy of my attention.

But I missed it.

The crunch.

The cold.

The way it makes a sandwich feel substantial.

So, I gave up on giving it up.

Cold turkey.

Again.

Out of the blue.

Buying two heads at a time, because apparently, I’m a wild woman.

Not because it’s good for me.

But because I like it.

No… because I love it.

And somewhere in the middle of that first crisp bite, it hit me.

You gave something up that you loved because it didn’t justify itself.

And I wonder how often I’ve done that.

Not just with food.

Am I the only one?

Have you ever convinced yourself that something you loved wasn’t worth keeping?

With rest.

With quiet.

With things that don’t appear to produce or prove anything.

Maybe even with people.

Yikes.

Maybe not everything we love has to earn its place.

Maybe some things are allowed to stay just because we enjoy them.

Or because they bring us pure, unadulterated joy.

And perhaps that’s reason enough because joy itself has value.

I’ve always been pretty good at justifying things.

What does it produce?

What does it accomplish?

What does it prove?

But I wonder if God sometimes gives us things that don’t need to justify themselves.

A sunset.

A good conversation.

A favorite song.

The sound of a waterfall.

An iceberg wedge salad with bacon bits and blue cheese crumbles.

Is God perhaps found in delight as much as discipline?

And an iceberg wedge salad?

Divine.