This morning as I headed down the stairs from my condo to the parking lot, I watched my feet (because if I don't I'm liable to miss a step), and the woman in front of me. She extinguished a cigarette and then took a garbage bag of trash to her trunk to take to the dumpster.
I had my own bag of trash and before I could make it to my car, the woman turned to me, held out her hand and said, "Here, I'll take that."
Here, I'll take that.
It may seem like a simple gesture, but honestly I don't know that I would ever offer to take someone else's trash to the dumpster. You never know what someone is throwing away. You don't know if the bag is leaking or filled with leftovers from two nights ago. Things ferment. Things brew and plastic bags are poor containers.
And yet this woman took my trash without hesitation. She didn't ask if she could do me a favor. She simply held out her hand and said, "I'll take that."
And despite the fact that I was out of breath just from walking down the stairs, I almost turned her down, partly because we live in a cynical world and for all I knew she was some identity thief who was going to go through my garbage for credit card statements or whatever and partly because I was embarrassed at what might be in my trash.
But, in the end, I didn't have the energy for three words "no, thank you." I only had the energy for two, "thank you."
And I watched her drive away with my trash.
I realized, driving to church after, that every day, God tells me to give Him my trash, my emotional and spiritual baggage, some days old, some years old, and all smelly and nasty and way past expiration.
And every day, whether it's due to pride or shame, I hold onto that trash.
We all do.
I was looking at this bird on top of what I call the "angel tree" at church. I don't know where it had been, but its feathers were all ruffled. Perhaps it had been bathing, or perhaps it had been startled or frightened by something.
Have you ever seen your dog or cat after they've been up to no good? Have you seen how they slink and walk with their tails down? They can't make eye contact. They're ashamed.
But animals in the wild have no shame. They have no pride. They exist. They suffer. They heal. They live, they die and they never worry about their next meal. They fight for their loved ones. They appreciate the night.
But they live without shame and God always provides.
Our pets, though, reflect who we are for good and for bad. Whenever I rhetorically ask my cat why he's such a weirdo, I realize after fifteen years, he's a weirdo because I am.
"Here, I'll take that."
Listen for those words.
They may come from a stranger's mouth, but the one uttering the words is no stranger.
God wants to heal us. He wants to take away all that wounds us. We have no need for shame or pride when we truly accept that God loves us and we are cared for no matter what.
I had my own bag of trash and before I could make it to my car, the woman turned to me, held out her hand and said, "Here, I'll take that."
Here, I'll take that.
It may seem like a simple gesture, but honestly I don't know that I would ever offer to take someone else's trash to the dumpster. You never know what someone is throwing away. You don't know if the bag is leaking or filled with leftovers from two nights ago. Things ferment. Things brew and plastic bags are poor containers.
And yet this woman took my trash without hesitation. She didn't ask if she could do me a favor. She simply held out her hand and said, "I'll take that."
And despite the fact that I was out of breath just from walking down the stairs, I almost turned her down, partly because we live in a cynical world and for all I knew she was some identity thief who was going to go through my garbage for credit card statements or whatever and partly because I was embarrassed at what might be in my trash.
But, in the end, I didn't have the energy for three words "no, thank you." I only had the energy for two, "thank you."
And I watched her drive away with my trash.
I realized, driving to church after, that every day, God tells me to give Him my trash, my emotional and spiritual baggage, some days old, some years old, and all smelly and nasty and way past expiration.
And every day, whether it's due to pride or shame, I hold onto that trash.
We all do.
I was looking at this bird on top of what I call the "angel tree" at church. I don't know where it had been, but its feathers were all ruffled. Perhaps it had been bathing, or perhaps it had been startled or frightened by something.
Have you ever seen your dog or cat after they've been up to no good? Have you seen how they slink and walk with their tails down? They can't make eye contact. They're ashamed.
But animals in the wild have no shame. They have no pride. They exist. They suffer. They heal. They live, they die and they never worry about their next meal. They fight for their loved ones. They appreciate the night.
But they live without shame and God always provides.
Our pets, though, reflect who we are for good and for bad. Whenever I rhetorically ask my cat why he's such a weirdo, I realize after fifteen years, he's a weirdo because I am.
"Here, I'll take that."
Listen for those words.
They may come from a stranger's mouth, but the one uttering the words is no stranger.
God wants to heal us. He wants to take away all that wounds us. We have no need for shame or pride when we truly accept that God loves us and we are cared for no matter what.
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