This is a bad week to be a trash man.
I survey the bags of crumbled Christmas wrapping, the empty computer and television cartons, and the black bags containing the remains of the big dinner piled along the streets. Each morning, the collectors clock in, get their assignments, and then grab the keys to their vehicles. They start them up and rumble out of the yard, one by one, fanning out across the city.
At some point, these trucks will fill up. There’s only so much that can collect before they will have to go to the landfill to deposit their collections.
My friend John once commented on a mutual acquaintance, calling him a “human garbage truck.” This person was so full of junk – frustration, anger, and disappointment — that eventually, he had to find a place to dump it. And sometimes, it was right on me. Even though I was his friend, it didn’t matter.
Isn’t it true, that the people who mean the most to me get my garbage.
How many times did I come home, frustrated at the boss, only to take it out on my wife and children? My family and friends have been witness to my temper, my selfishness, and my prideful tantrums. “God, give me patience — and love — when others do the same to me.”
There are people all around you who have full trucks today. Somebody may just choose to dump on you.
I love the axiom. “Love the people who treat you right. Pray for the ones who don’t.” There’s even a Bible verse somewhere about that, but I don’t read it often. “Love those that hate you, and persecute you,” and “Return good for evil.”
Boy, this is tough.
Care to comment?
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