(pg 44) The woman flops down on the bench and drops a trash bag between her feet. With elbows on knees and cheeks in hands, she stars at the sidewalk. Everything aches. Back. Leg. Neck. Her shoulder is stiff and her hands raw. All because of the sack.
.............
Her memories of life without the trash are fuzzy. As a child maybe? Her back was straighter, her walk quicker...or was it a dream? She doesn't know for sure.
............
She never looks at her trash. Early on she did. But what she saw repulsed her, so she's kept the sack closed ever since. What else can she do? Give it to someone? All have their own.
.............
Here comes an old man, face ravined with wrinkles. His trash sack is so long it hits the back of his legs as he walks. He glances at the woman and tries to smile.
What weight would he be carrying?she wonders as he passes. "Regrets." She turns to see who spoke. Beside her on the bench sits a man. Tall, with angular cheeks and bright, kind eyes. Like hers, his jeans are mud-stained. Unlike hers, his shoulders are straight. He wears a T-shirt and baseball cap. She looks around for his trash but doesn't see it. Strange. Everyone else is loaded down with trash. Why isn't he? What's his secret?
Forgetting her own troubles for a moment, the woman stares at the stranger beside her on the bench. "What do you mean, 'regrets'?" she asks him. He watches the old man trudge away with his bag as he explains, "As a young father, he worked many hours and neglected his family. His children don't love him. His sack is full-full of regrets."
She doesn't respond. And when she doesn't, he does. "And yours?"
"Mine?"she asks, looking at him...and carefully not looking at the bulging sack between her feet.
"Shame." His voice is gentle, compassionate. She still doesn't speak, but neither does she turn away. "Too many hours in the wrong places, with the wrong people. Last year. Last night...shame."
She stiffens, steeling herself against the scorn she has learned to expect. As if she needed more shame. Stop him. But now? She awaits his judgment. But it never comes. His voice is warm and his question honest : "Will you give me your trash?"
Her head draws back. What can he mean? "Give it to me. Tomorrow. At the landfill. Will you bring it?" He rubs a moist smudge from her cheek with his thumb and stands. "Friday. The landfill."
.............
It is Friday. For a time she stands, thinking. First wondering what he meant, then if he really meant it. She sighs. With hope just barely outweighing hopelessness, she turns toward the edge of town. Others are walking in the same direction.
..............
The landfill is tall with trash-papers and broken brooms and old beds and rusty cars. By the time they reach the hill, the line to the top is long. Hundreds walk ahead of them. All wait in silence, stunned by what they hear-a scream, a pain-pierced roar that hangs in the air for moments, interrupted only by a groan. Then the scream again.
His.
As they draw nearer, they know why. He kneels before each person who comes, gesturing toward the sack, offering a request, then a prayer. "May I have it? And may you never feel it again." Then he bows his head and lifts the sack, emptying its contents upon himself. The selfishness of the glutton, the bitterness of the angry, the possessiveness of the insecure. He feels what they felt. It is as if he'd lied or cheated or cursed his Maker.
Upon her turn, the woman pauses. Hesitates. His eyes compel her to step forward. He reaches for her trash and takes it from her. "You can't live with this," he explains. "You weren't made to." With head down, he empties her shame upon his shoulders. Then looking toward the heavens with tear-flooded eyes, he screams, "I'm sorry!"
"But you did nothing!" she cries. Still, he sobs as she sobbed into her pillow a hundred nights. That's when she realizes that his cry is hers. Her shame his. With her thumb she touches his cheek, and for the first step in a long nighttime, she has no trash to carry.
With the others the woman stands at the base of the hill and watches as the selfless stranger is burried under a mound of misery. For some time he moans. Then nothing. Just silence.
..................
They almost miss the moment. It is the young girl who sees it. The girl with the rage. She doesn't trust her eyes at first, but when looks again, she knows.
Her words are soft, intended for no one. "He's standing." Then aloud, for her friend, "He's standing." And louder for all, "He's standing!"
She turns;all turn. They see him silhouetted against a golden sun. Standing. Indeed.
This story brought me goosebumps. It just reflects Jesus and all He has done for us. At the cross, Jesus paid the price for our sins. He took on the sins of the world on His shoulder and died. But the most wonderful thing that could happen was when that in the end, He was "standing." Jesus died but He also rose from the dead. And that's just really awesome.
The best part was this : As if she needed more shame. Stop him. But now? She awaits his judgement. But it never comes. God knows every sin we've commited, every bad thing we did, every weakness in us. But the best part is. He doesn't judge us. He accepts us for who we are and for what we have done.
And this "trash" doesn't necessary mean sin. It could simply be something that keeps us away from God or our loved ones or a burden that slows us down. Like a sinful habit we don't want to give up, or a fantasy we cling on to, or a revenge we still hold on to.
Basically, God is asking for your "trash". He wants it. He wants to get rid of it, to set us free from burdens. But in the end, it's just up to us. Are we willing to give Him our "trash"? Take out your "trash" today, and let's count on Him to get rid of it.
The landfill is tall with trash-papers and broken brooms and old beds and rusty cars. By the time they reach the hill, the line to the top is long. Hundreds walk ahead of them. All wait in silence, stunned by what they hear-a scream, a pain-pierced roar that hangs in the air for moments, interrupted only by a groan. Then the scream again.
His.
As they draw nearer, they know why. He kneels before each person who comes, gesturing toward the sack, offering a request, then a prayer. "May I have it? And may you never feel it again." Then he bows his head and lifts the sack, emptying its contents upon himself. The selfishness of the glutton, the bitterness of the angry, the possessiveness of the insecure. He feels what they felt. It is as if he'd lied or cheated or cursed his Maker.
Upon her turn, the woman pauses. Hesitates. His eyes compel her to step forward. He reaches for her trash and takes it from her. "You can't live with this," he explains. "You weren't made to." With head down, he empties her shame upon his shoulders. Then looking toward the heavens with tear-flooded eyes, he screams, "I'm sorry!"
"But you did nothing!" she cries. Still, he sobs as she sobbed into her pillow a hundred nights. That's when she realizes that his cry is hers. Her shame his. With her thumb she touches his cheek, and for the first step in a long nighttime, she has no trash to carry.
With the others the woman stands at the base of the hill and watches as the selfless stranger is burried under a mound of misery. For some time he moans. Then nothing. Just silence.
..................
They almost miss the moment. It is the young girl who sees it. The girl with the rage. She doesn't trust her eyes at first, but when looks again, she knows.
Her words are soft, intended for no one. "He's standing." Then aloud, for her friend, "He's standing." And louder for all, "He's standing!"
She turns;all turn. They see him silhouetted against a golden sun. Standing. Indeed.
This story brought me goosebumps. It just reflects Jesus and all He has done for us. At the cross, Jesus paid the price for our sins. He took on the sins of the world on His shoulder and died. But the most wonderful thing that could happen was when that in the end, He was "standing." Jesus died but He also rose from the dead. And that's just really awesome.
The best part was this : As if she needed more shame. Stop him. But now? She awaits his judgement. But it never comes. God knows every sin we've commited, every bad thing we did, every weakness in us. But the best part is. He doesn't judge us. He accepts us for who we are and for what we have done.
And this "trash" doesn't necessary mean sin. It could simply be something that keeps us away from God or our loved ones or a burden that slows us down. Like a sinful habit we don't want to give up, or a fantasy we cling on to, or a revenge we still hold on to.
Basically, God is asking for your "trash". He wants it. He wants to get rid of it, to set us free from burdens. But in the end, it's just up to us. Are we willing to give Him our "trash"? Take out your "trash" today, and let's count on Him to get rid of it.
*Oh and btw, all the ".............. " means that there're more sentences. Had to cut the story short or else no one will read this post. *
