Me, 2022: “McDonald’s is disgusting. It is only acceptable in two places: at the airport or on road trips.”
Me, 2023: “Well, I have 3000 reward points on the McDonald’s app. I might as well get an extra McChicken! It’s basically them paying me to eat!”
Most of the time (80-90%), I subscribe to a WFPB life: Whole Food, Plant-Based. It’s like a less annoying way of saying “vegan.” I am not an evangelist unless someone asks me about it, in which case I will tell them my own experience without proselytizing. It reduced inflammation and improved my recovery from long runs immensely. I am happier and less prone to mood swings. I also enjoy the benefit of lessening my imprint on the earth. I don’t force it on my family, but it has also reduced their meat and dairy, and I’m not mad about it. Basically, you eat anything you want as long as it’s fruits, vegetables, legumes, grains, nuts, or seeds. That’s it. For breakfast, I might have overnight oats with fruit and nuts/seeds (I am single-handedly keeping the walnut industry in business). Other meals are some combo of rice or pasta, veggies, sauces, beans, or tofu. If I feel undernourished, I might have an egg or two or a tin of sardines during the week. I’m not overly dogmatic about it.
From Saturday night to Sunday night, though, all bets are off. This weekend I had a Carne Asada plate (medium rare) at our corner Mexican joint. I also had an ice cream sundae, a tuna sandwich, pepperoni pizza, and a Philly cheesesteak over the course of about 36 hours. I might have gone a little overboard, but I am not ashamed. I love the variety of God’s buffet.
One thing I am ashamed of: sneaking McDonald’s in my car.
Don’t look at me and tell me you’ve never done it. You’re lying.
My daughter introduced me to the McDonald’s app earlier this year. She wanted me to sign up so that she could use my rewards and get free things. Like a good mother, I supported her in gaming the system. After a while, the app started to notify me randomly with messages like “wouldn’t a FREE medium fry be so good right now?” or “1$ for ANY size Diet Coke!” I figured out that these messages were quite sophisticated—they knew my preferences and location so that they could get me at the right moment with the right message. I work in marketing… I know this game. It doesn’t mean I was any stronger in resisting the siren song of the golden arches.
I love gamification. I love badges and rewards and gems and jewels and bonus points. I am the perfect app consumer. I went from going to McDonald’s once a year to sliding in once a week while running errands. I, the WFPB queen of the house, was sneaking McDonald’s in my car once a week. I wouldn’t get much food—maybe a double cheeseburger, small fry, and a small diet coke. But I would hide the bags, never bring the soda in the house, and hope that the smell of french fries didn’t linger too long. Bits of fry would fall between the seats, and I would obsess over whether one of my kids would find it and accuse me of food hypocrisy. My lectures about the importance of putting healthy fuel in their growing bodies would be torpedoed by the evidence of my sneaking.
I always feel pathetic when I’m sneak-eating in the car. Usually, I’m in a parking lot, avoiding eye contact with anyone who walks by. I feel like a feral animal in a crate. I assume I must look so depressing to passers-by—a lonely old lady shoving fries in her mouth while listening to NPR. “How sad,” they’d whisper, “I bet she has no family or friends. I bet she has a lot of cats.”
There is nothing inherently wrong with a little fast food every once and a while. But this habit was, for a solid eight weeks or so, a secret shame. On the “scale of secrets,” it’s not a big one. But I didn’t like what I was becoming. I was a pawn to a very sophisticated app that knew how to manipulate me and lead me to food pumped full of serotonin-inducing chemicals that studies show rewire the pleasure receptors in our brains.
Small secrets can compound into larger ones. It does not happen overnight, but these big little lies can chip away at our characters. Like shaving a couple of dollars off what you tell your husband you spent at Target or a couple of pounds off at the DMV when they ask your weight for your driver’s license. We have to look in the mirror and decide whether we are OK with being this type of person. If it’s so effortless to lie in the small things, why would others trust us with the big stuff? It’s up to us whether we want to introduce even a sliver of doubt into our relationships. I’m not sure any secret french fry is worth it.
The Bible is full of people who harbor secrets. Those secrets always come to light. But we believe in a God of mercy who only wants us to repent so he can show us imminent, beautiful grace. So even in my weakness—how I am so susceptible to well-designed apps and the perfect combination of sugar + fat + salt—God sees an opportunity to show off just how strong I can be. The lies of omission, or the little stretches of the truth, are unnecessary. What am I scared of? If I come home and say, “I just ate an ice cream sundae alone in the car, but I brought you all a pint,” I don’t have to be afraid that my whole family will judge me. They’ll be too busy enjoying their ice cream.
When we lie just a little bit, it’s usually because we are avoiding accountability. It’s a signal. That little nudge of the Holy Spirit is in the pit of your stomach whispering, “this ain’t it, sis.” There was a time in my life when I walked around without that helper, and I never want to go back. I rarely ever felt guilty, so convinced by the world around me that it was my birthright to take what I wanted, that no one is hurt by a tiny lie now and then.
I understand now that it isn’t about how my lies hurt others. It’s about how they hurt me and disappoint God. They make me into someone self-centered. They make me doubt others needlessly because I project my sense of morality on them. If I can lie so quickly, I assume others can too. What a sad way to walk in the world. Sadder than any woman eating french fries in a parking lot.
The most incredible feeling in the world is being able to say, “I’m not who I was,” and mean it. But, the first step in that transformation is a confession to God and each other. So, as Usher would say, these are my confessions. I pray that anyone who reads these words dares to reach out to someone they trust and unload some secrets. I am here if you need me. I’ll buy you a McFlurry, and we can eat it in the light of day… together.