Bigger Picture Moments: On Waving the White Flag

It's one of the battles we said we'd fight to the very end that's left us raising our white flag of peace high into the sky on a cool December night.

That food is more than calories and carbs/fat/protein and taste, that it's meant to connect us to the soil and each other, to nourish, heal, sustain is a philosophy John and I wholeheartedly embrace, especially now in the aftermath of chronic illness and healing.

But here we are in the chill of almost-winter, preparing together to raise the white flag, a peace treaty for our oldest son, regarding the guidelines we've set for the way we do food in our house.

Because when we said it was a battle we'd fight until the end, we didn't really mean it; I, honestly, had forgotten what battle entails -- a forceful overtaking, a strong-hold grip that leaves slain hearts along the way. And that's what's happening with our oldest -- he's taken us to battle. Our troops -- at 3 and 5 years old-- are on the verge of declaring civil war.

We'd more envisioned standing united, going up against the normal Standard American Diet, educating, encouraging and helping our boys, who would then help others, implement change.

What we'd envisioned sounds a whole less like battle and a whole lot more like a mission rooted in love. But we got what I asked for -- we got battle instead. Worse yet, my mom had pointed out, is that it's on the verge of war within our own home.

As John and I plan our offer of peace, we don't abandon our conviction and belief.

Probably, it's just the opposite; we affirm what we've come to learn about nourishing our bodies versus simply eating anything edible is foundational for good health.

But we refocus -- our mission, the delivery of the message, the rallying of the partners in work because our oldest, he is angry, too angry for five years old and that red flag is what we need to reframe.

I'm bewildered, but his anger isn't lost on me or John. In times of passion or frustration at his questions and insertion of his will, we've come at this the wrong way -- information drawn like swords ready to pierce the misinformation instead of with teaching words and heart.

And in those times it's like we picked a battle with the wrong little people -- two strong-willed boys, the oldest being a leader to his core who will battle until the very end.

So now we begin the peace process, cleaning up the land mines of anger unintentionally planted, soothing the open wounds with salve of choice, putting down the swords of information and arming ourselves instead with words of love-coated explanation.

Because this actually isn't a battle I, either of us, are willing to fight until the bitter end favoring conviction over the actual heart.

But it is a mission field on which we'll stand in truth and love and enough faith to know that messages delivered in love don't often fall on deaf ears.

Link up at Melissa's!

  

Everyday Life: The Fight I Will Keep Fighting

Our battle begins early in the morning the first day of school on the shaky ground of school snacks.

At G's school, each child in the class brings snack for the entire class a few times a year.

I love the concept.

In theory.

In practice, it doesn't work for us ... mostly because I know too much and believe what I know so passionately that I can't erase it. At all.

While goldfish crackers and colorful yogurt tubes look innocent, I know these foods beyond the simple breakdowns of calories and macronutrients and ingredient labels. I know what vegetable oils heavy in omega-6s do to the heart muscle and yogurt loaded with processed sugars and dyes can do to the body at the cellular level as well as chemically.

And because I now know all of this {I mean, as well as I can know it without having a degree}, I simply cannot fathom allowing my little ones to eat these foods daily. Now, I'm not totally crazy; we normally follow an 80/20 rule where 80 percent of the time we eat whole foods dense in nutrients while 20 percent of the time we let kids be kids. Or adults be adults, as we would be the case for John and his affinity for cherry-flavored pops.

But every day? Well, I can't stomach it.

So neither will he, even to his dismay.

His deep irritation rises while I'm in the thick of cooking eggs on the stove.

He grunts and groans and huffs and sighs and elaborates a well orchestrated argument. Normally, my ears are all his, but to this particular oration, they may as well be deaf.

There are few things for which I will dig a thick stake into the ground and then sink my heels into the soil just as firmly.

The first is that God is good all of the time. No matter what.

The second is that John and I love each other and them relentlessly and whole heartedly.

The third is that food is more than calories and carbs {and the like} and taste; it's meant to connect us to the soil and each other, to nourish, heal, sustain.

And there's nothing about goldfish and graham crackers or the like that connect or nourish, heal or sustain. There's just not. And those foods have popped up often enough in past daily snack itineraries that even friends who are much less rigid have questioned why we are serving what we are serving in school and other child-centric settings.

Once he's said his peace, he stares at me and stomps one foot on the ground as if to put the exclamation mark on his action-pack deposition; I see the buddings of a lawyer emerge in the satisfied smirk on his face.

But what he doesn't know is that even the world's best orator attorney couldn't sway a jury against a passionately honest mother bear who knows what she knows with every fiber of her being.

I crouch down, and I give my closing statement, feet firmly planted in the soil I know to be truth, concluding that he will be choosing healthy snacks from our pantry, fridge or counter daily and bringing them to school for his snack every day,

and I round out my closing statement with the one truth I know best

-- the one that fuels my fire beyond any knowledge or research or biology or chemistry --

"because I love you."

With that the jury is sold.

And I can even see in the cross-examining attorney's eyes that he, too, has been won.

UPDATE: If you're reading this in the archives, you'll definitely want to read the update to this post because the cross-examining attorney ended up only being sold momentarily! We learned a really important lesson from this that I'd hate for anyone to have to go through.