If anyone on my street wants to describe me, they often define me as the lady with the HUGE garbage can. To no one does it ever enter their mind that wise thinking resulted in the size of my garbage can. That is until last week.
My sweet, snowbird, next door couple invited me over for lunch. Between bites, the husband’s conversation mentioned he needed to start filling their garbage can with trash they would not be taking back North with them. Casually, I offered my garbage can for anything that would overflow their container. Instinctively, his male rationale kicked in, and he blurted out my distinction of being the live-alone widow who twice a week pulls the largest size made, residential garbage can to the curb. The look on his face broadcasted, “are you aware that you have not a family-size, but an apartment-size garbage can?”. My retort comically educated him that my choice actually was not man deduced ignorance but woman’s brilliant logic.
Not by accident, but out of genius thinking, I calculated the size of my garbage can; and the calculation equaled the enormity of my fear of prowling beasts of the night. Honestly and simply speaking, I absolutely don’t want any possums, coyotes, racoons, etc., etc., etc., anywhere near my abode – let alone pilfering through my worldly garbage and making a mess of my discarded cast offs. Thus, intellectual deduction equaled no creature of the night would choose to attack my heavy reinforced obstruction over a neighbor’s light weight, easily toppled hindrance.
Many a time on garbage day, when I’m out before the garbage truck has made its round, my neighbors’ driveways (with the judged “appropriate size” can at the curb) find their containers topsy turvy with the “once” contained bags shredded and their garbage strewn everywhere. The goliath at my curb, so far, successfully remains upright and battle scar free!
Stretching this scenario, may I add, sometimes the battle is best won by setting up a line of defense meant to keep a war of destruction from being able to begin. What’s more, this strategy not only works against possums, coyotes and racoons but also against the most feared of all prowlers of the dark – the devil. Back to the story at hand!
Man’s life produces not only physical garbage but also sinful rubble. Housed in tight lid closures, man’s physical garbage, never to be seen again, gets hauled away to a landfill. Comparatively speaking, man’s sinful rubble is to be carried to the ash heap at the foot of the Cross and left there, never to be taken up again. However, what kind of protection barrier do we employ to ward off the devil’s prowl, which prevents our sinful (and forgiven) refuse imperfections from getting to their, once and for all, burial ground?
Possums, coyotes and racoons thrive on ransacking our physical garbage before it can be swallowed up by a landfill. Satan flourishes on spewing our past wrongs at our feet, so we linger in guilt over forgiveness, resulting in our sins never getting buried at the foot of Christ’s Cross. Thus, too often our sinful garbage lays sprawled in our midst and not disposed of for good as intended, and granted, through Christ’s Crucifixion.
Possums, coyotes and racoons can be deterred by my oversize, physical, store-bought container. However, only Christ’s purchase on the Cross can contain the devil, carry off the garbage of my sins and bury them, once and for all, at the landfill called Calvary. Though this is Christ’s gift to me, I have to choose Him as the container to carry my sinful garbage to the dump. Similarly, your choice is yours to make. My prayer is we all choose the Supreme Size Christ to contain, cart off and bury all our forgiven sins.
Uplifted in a Broken Down World 