Where Theology Meets Consumption Disclosure: This post contains affiliate links. I did not receive any compensation for recommending the linked products, but I may receive a commission if you click on the link and subsequently purchase a product. For the past few weeks, I have had a crisis of conscience every time I go to the grocery store, every time I prepare a meal, every time I give a snack to my kids. I am no stranger to these food-related troubles. Jamie Oliver has me scrutinizing school lunches. Documentaries like Forks over Knives, Super Size Me, and Food, Inc. have me increasing plant-based foods, reducing processed foods, and being vigilant against GMOs. My newest food crisis is less about what is in my food and more about what my food is in. I am concerned about food packaging. Recently, I read a news story about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, an 80,000-ton floating jumble of mostly-plastic trash floating in the ocean between Hawaii and California. This massive, maritime dump covers an area double the size of Texas. Since reading this story, I scrutinize every package. My awareness of how much non-recyclable, non-biodegradable packaging overwhelmed me in my dinner prep last …
While I finished cooking dinner, my son quietly slipped into my office and sat at my desk with a single sheet of white paper in front of him. A little while later, he emerged with a picture. Climbing up into the breakfast nook, he brought his drawing close to me and laid it near my cutting board. He had drawn a heart. Not a red heart. Not a pink heart. But a black and blue and green heart. “Tell me about your picture.” He pointed to the blue. “Are you sad, honey?” A nod. “Can you tell me what made you feel sad?” A head shake. Maybe at five years old, he didn’t have the words to tell me what made him sad. Or maybe, like me, he couldn’t bear to speak it. All afternoon I had fought back my own tears, swallowing the pain until I felt sick to my stomach. How could I cry when I needed to be strong for him? When I needed to manage the afternoon chaos, get dinner on the table, and make it to bedtime so that I could finally share my litany of sadness with my husband? There was a clear …
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