C is for chicken, that's good enough for me.

By and large, being vegan has gone more smoothly than I expected these past 3 weeks. It takes a little more planning and research, and I still really miss cheese, but I do LOVE veggies and take great pride in making them delicious enough to entice my husband and kids. So it's not like I was acutely suffering every time a meal hour rolled around.

But then, chicken.

A rotisserie chicken, to be precise. Its heady scent, golden brown skin, and perfectly moist flesh caught me off guard about 5 days into Lent. As I went about my usual meal-prep-for-the-normals work, I stumbled right into the meat-temptation crisis without even seeing it coming. As I began to pull the meat from the bones, the texture alone was nearly enough to send me into a Cookie Monster style feeding frenzy!

Up until that moment, the first few days had been challenging, but manageable. I've taken a general strategy of sensory avoidance of foods that tempt me most, except for when I can be mindful and intentional enough to really enjoy the sights and smells I miss. I try not to let myself gaze with absentminded longing at this quesadilla or that shrimp alfredo, but when I'm well-prepared you just might catch me deeply sniffing my son's burrito before I let him eat it. (Don't judge me!)

But what I hadn't counted on was the impact of moving past sight and smell, to touch. Simply engaging this one additional sense was enough to nearly override all reason and resolve, and derail this plant-based train while it was hardly out of the station. And I don't even really like chicken that much! It was just the sensory immersion... chicken in my eyes.... chicken in my nose.... chicken in my fingers.... how can it not go in my mouth next???

That moment of being overwhelmed and nearly overpowered was powerful. All that kept my mouth empty through deboning that entire bird was Meaghan. I thought, "She doesn't even know I'm doing this. How can it matter if I just have one tiny bite?" And then, in answer, from the wiser part of me: "Does it matter if she knows? Your purpose in this is to know her experience better. So know her better in this."


Counting the Cost 
Two things became crystal clear in that very moment:

• I could make this easier: I could purge the whole house of animal products, and inflict a vegan diet on my husband and our other 2 kids (even if it might lead to mutiny). But I can't fully embrace the experience if I avoid the tensions she lives with as a member of this non-vegan house every day.
• The slow, trudging, daily compliance to the rules is a part of being vegan, but I would never gain fuller understanding of Meaghan's experience/choices/sacrifices without pushing through that moment with integrity, even if no one would see the compromise.

One who in every respect has been tempted...
And then, as I wrestled with my heart and appetite, struggling to puzzle out whether the wrestling itself had any value, that still small Voice: "I know. I did this once for you."

Since then we have a great high priest who as passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:14-16)

Suddenly, there was vision to see my Savior a little better... a little bigger. He could have been incarnated onto some mountain in some remote corner of his world. He could have lived out his days  isolated, set apart physically, walking the path of least resistance until it was time for his sacrificial death. He could have made it easier for himself.

But he got dirty instead. He walked right in among us, touched the socially, physically, and spiritually unclean. He was the object of more than his share of ridicule, opposition, oppression, and slander. He not only put on our flesh but walked it down a path that made him intimately familiar with every temptation I face, yet without sin.

This moment rocked me. It was like when you stand between two mirrors, and see yourself seeing yourself. This small taste of sympathizing with Jesus' experience of learning to sympathize with my experience was powerful, transformative. Sharing in his perspective (even in microcosm) was profoundly faith-building and satisfying... in ways the best of chicken just can't touch.