At the risk of being irreverent ( I live on the edge) all of these came together this week as we lugged the trash bin up and down the driveway anticipating the arrival …or not…of the trash man on a week beginning with a holiday. Will he come on the regular day? The day after? Earlier than usual? “Well, just leave it out and he will come sometime,” you say. Not a good idea. What if somebody, walking their dog, knocks it over and the wine bottles go rolling and clinking into the street and the empty Cheetos bags go flying in the breeze and stick to the rose bushes? Our fragile reputation would be in ruins. So, we haul the thing back and forth until the poor beleaguered trash man (who has to put five days work into four) finally comes.
This week St. Paul gives us a rapture picture and last week the OCD virgins and the Tralala virgins showed us how you could end up banging on the door. As I hauled the empty bin back up all of these people left standing in the fields and out shopping for more oil and missing the big event came to mind. With my luck with trash truck timing it was not looking good.
So, for me, the only solution is to leave my bin out and be ready because, when the big day comes, the metaphorical wine and Cheetos exposition is going to happen anyway and it will all be okay.
Just don’t judge your neighbor’s trash.
Amen for today and Be Holy
A Word to the Weary 