Living with Lazarus

published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on May 20, 2011

As the cashier lifted our tomatoes off the scale, I gasped to see that the single, sheer bag sagging with the ripe, red fruit had rung up at $ 18. (Of course, you knew tomatoes were fruit.) How many 79¢ cans of tomato sauce could you get from this single bag of tomatoes? No wonder it seems easier, cheaper, and faster to eat junk food. How many meals could I make out of $18 worth of spaghetti sauce and noodles? No wonder obesity is a problem that ironically plagues the poor disproportionately. It’s not that they have too much to eat; they have too much of the cheaper, calorie-laden, over-processed foods, and not enough of the wholesome, fresh, and nutritious foods.


Home economists might disagree, showing how easily one can whip up smoothies and homemade soups and granola. If Karla Seidita of Cheesecake Farms comes over to give me in-home demos (preferably daily), I will happily agree.


Why am I suddenly interested in tomatoes, when there is not a hint of Italian in me? Tomatoes are a heart-healthy food. So are oatmeal, almonds, avocadoes, onions, garlic, walnuts, fish, soy, and whole grains. Avoiding red meat, dairy, eggs, starchy foods, excess salt, fried, fatty foods are also good. In other words, chuck out the fun and flavor from your diet and toss in regular exercise, and with the weight reduction that likely ensues, you have a recipe for success.


The other day, I walked up the hill with my husband. He, having lost 45 pounds since November, took the ascent in stride. I, having gained ten since then, huffed and puffed beside him. I felt like the little pig and the big bad wolf rolled into one.


What a great and beautiful irony this was. Six months ago, my husband nearly died, and here he is now, affirming the advice on eating healthier and on the importance of the simple, daily walk. It’s like living with Lazarus.


In case you haven’t heard, (according to Robin Earl, the first editor at this newspaper to run my writing in 2005, everyone in this county knows the story), my husband suffered a massive heart attack and sudden cardiac arrest on Nov. 8th at age 52. He was unconscious for the first five days of his twelve days of hospitalization. He came home on Nov. 19th, used a walker for one day, rode in one of those electric wheely-carts during our first grocery store outing, and has improved steadily, having just completed his cardiac rehab therapy at Fauquier Health’s Wellness Center. Many of the medical staff have dubbed him “The Miracle Man.”


I am so glad that I do not have to face life alone. I am keenly aware of others who have recently lost their lifelong mates, and I am humbled and amazed and frightened all at once. How close did we come that day? Our life is a supreme luxury. Thank you, again, for your prayers.


In case you don’t know the story of Lazarus, I’ll introduce the Biblical one. I should say “a Biblical one” as two are mentioned in the New Testament. Having grown up in this country from the age of five, I dodged the Bible until I was nineteen. Therefore, I am sensitive to those who might be unaware of allusions to “Jonah” and things like “manna from Heaven.”


There are at least two Lazaruses mentioned in the New Testament. I say “at least two” to cover myself in case you know of others elsewhere in the Bible. This particular Lazarus was the brother of Mary and Martha, all friends of Jesus. If you recall, one of the sisters (Martha) was a bit of a workaholic worrywart punctual organizer type (we all need these kind of people, even if we don’t particularly like them) who got ticked off once when she was doing all the food prep while Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, soaking up His words. Martha was annoyed that she did not have the services of her sister, the Chief Kitchen Aide and General Gopher.


These sisters once urgently summoned Jesus to their home: their brother was sick and might be dying, and they needed a miracle, and they needed one right away. Jesus took His time and sauntered into town some three days later – after Lazarus had been found to be clinically dead, wrapped up and buried in a rock tomb. The sisters wailed. Why hadn’t Jesus come sooner? He could probably have saved their brother. If only he had come sooner. If only the brother had taken better care of himself and kept his weight and cholesterol levels down and exercised regularly. If only, if only, if only…


What they hadn’t accounted for was the fact that Jesus, being Son of God, could handle emergencies at any time, because time is as much a creation as this earth is. They didn’t need to call 911. They just had to call on the Son.


I needed, and am glad, I had the services of both, because living with Lazarus is great. The man is worth his weight (current and former) in tomatoes.