Rough Stone Rolling

I recently went to my doctor for a physical and learned my cholesterol was through the roof. He sent me to a local renowned cardiologist who confirmed this. The superstar specialist added that it was largely due to my genetics as well as my diet, and prescribed Vytorin. But the prescription didn’t stop there.

“No more meat, no more dairy, no more fried foods. You can eat seafood, but only ‘fish with faces.’”

“How long do I have to be on this diet?”

“How long do you want to live?”

This was a harsh way to get a Word of Wisdom wake-up call. From that moment, I had to say farewell to steaks, hamburgers, fried chicken, leftover turkey sandwiches, pizza, Honeybaked ham and every glorious beloved cheese with which I caroused. I felt like the wealthy young man whom the Lord told to sell all his belongings and distribute to the poor (See Lord, I don’t drink alcohol or coffee, and I don’t smoke!). Except, in my case, when I turned away and wept because I loved my belongings, no sooner would I be crossing the street than a coronary bus would mow me down. So, I shall mournfully comply.

I came across a Utah.gov page that said 57% of all Utahns are considered overweight or obese– more than the whole population of Montana. I’m sure when the Word of Wisdom was released, tea-totalling fatties isn’t what the Lord had in mind. Super Big Gulps with caffeine-free Diet Coke & 2 lbs. of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s Mindy Mint Meltaways. It doesn’t mesh. There’s something to the whole “meat sparingly” & “everything in moderation” advice, and with all of today’s triple-bypasses and XXXL superstores, the fruits of our mastications are evidently with us.

I’ve always rolled my eyes and made mental dismissive gestures towards vegetarians. They really didn’t get it. Meat was here for us, ambrosial pleasures bestowed by God, with fries and drink. I mean, animal flesh is so good! Cuban roast pork and kosher patrami on rye and Thai barbecue beef. Little delights given to take our minds off the adversities which daily plague us. Legumes and greens? Hamster food.

Now who’s the hamster?

I’d be more apt to ignore the good doctor’s ides of March– the love of food being so strong– if it weren’t for my daughter. My wife, too, but mostly Miss D. Every once in a while she gets teary, believing I might leave her. She wants me there to watch her graduate college, give my consent to marry, see how she is as a mom, herself. I haven’t even had a slight case of angina and she’s already picking out a black dress. But I see her point. My friend had a heart attack last year, and that’s when he dramatically revised his diet– and he’s a beanpole. He should be an example to me. You don’t have to touch the third rail to know it’s going to cook you.

On the same token, you don’t have to wait for Pres. Hinckley or another prophet to pound the pulpit and call all Saints to culinary repentance. They have, every one of them, counseled us to be mostly vegetarian & take care of our bodies. Eat meat sparingly; make fresh fruits, vegetables & grains your primary diet. And may I add, lay off the sugar, lay off the sodas– even diet sodas.

Let me clarify that, it isn’t obesity that I think is the sin: It’s excess, it’s disregard of consequence, it’s letting instant gratification override conscientious stewardship over the temple. I know I probably sound like a fresh born again throwing his mushroom & swiss burger in the trash and calling his chewing friends to repentance. I apologize for this. I’m just trying to verbalize my own rude enlightenment. I “knew” all of what I was saying was true before, but part of me guessed I was impervious to its penalties, or at least not anywhere near the danger zone.

There is a candle in my darkness, though, besides bettering my chances of survival. It’s more precious to me than burgers and KFC, more valuable than the melting butter sliding into the sour cream on a steamy baked potato. And it’s with me, and I hold it close, and no mere words can rip it from my embrace…

A little thing I like to call sushi.