Life After Shrimp

This morning I am thinking about my discovery that I have a pretty severe shellfish allergy.  The effect of ingesting shellfish started out as relatively mild.  It was just a slightly annoying itch.  Barely noticeable.  Over time, however, the reaction became more dramatic.  Specifically, it made my whole mouth tingle, followed by swelling of my tongue and tightening of my throat.  Totally noticeable.   Still, I tried to deny it.  That is, up until the night I found myself alone, having eaten only about two bites of shrimp-fried rice, unable to swallow, my heart racing.  It was only then that I confronted myself with the sobering truth.  I asked, “Seriously, is it worth your life?”

Upon learning of my shrimp allergy, one friend tried to offer some hope.  She said there might a way to gradually reintroduce shrimp back into my diet by ingesting very small amounts at a time and increasing the amount gradually.  It sounded tempting, but I declined.  I know myself better than that.  I acknowledge that I am a shrimp-a-holic, so I just have to go cold turkey.  As much as I may still want to partake of a delicious shrimp dinner every now and then, exercising wisdom and self-discipline is now a matter of life or death. 

Interestingly, I feel like an allergy of sorts has also started to affect me mentally and emotionally.  For years, I was prone to devouring doubt, anxiety, and fear whenever and wherever they were served.  But, more and more lately, I find that these things irritate me.  They swell my tongue with words that are contrary to love and truth.  They choke the joy and peace right out of me.  I have to be honest with myself when tempted with the notion that I might somehow be able to indulge in harmful, unproductive thoughts and behaviors in small, manageable doses.  The truth is, every little bit hurts.

There are three important lessons I’ve gleaned over the past two shrimp-less years.  First, not everything that’s good to me is good for me.  Secondly, there are some things I just have to let go, no matter how “tasty” they may be.  And finally, rather than fixating on what I can’t have, I can re-train my appetite to delight in the countless other things I can have.  Does it require sacrifice?  Indeed it does.  Does it mean I sometimes have to sit by and watch others indulge in things I cannot even touch?  Absolutely.  But my prayer is to be an encouragement to others who find themselves at a crossroads, needing to make tough changes but not quite believing it’s possible.  I want to tell the story—not just with my lips but by example—that there is wholeness and healing beyond the things that have proven only to kill, steal, and destroy.  I want to be living proof that there is life after shrimp.