Spring and summer are seasons of renewal, months to take delight in the reborn flowers and trees—to enjoy life after winter’s dormancy. So why in the world am I writing about dumpsters?
Well, one showed up on the driveway at an older home in my neighborhood. It’s amazing how the sight of it ignited such an immediate feeling of pain and loss—because I knew immediately the dumpster wasn’t there because of something fun like a major remodeling. I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first I must confess this is not my finest hour as a neighbor, at least as far as knowing my neighbors. While I don’t think it’s a good idea to be a Gladys Kravitz,* always snooping, I do think it would be nice to be part of a community where at least we know each other’s names, or if one of us passes away.
My office is located in the front part of my house, so if I have the blinds open I can see people walking by. In the dozen or more years I’ve lived here, I would often see an older woman walking her two little dogs. She wouldn’t go far, just up then down the block. If I happened to be outside I would wave or say hello, but that was about it. The extent of my knowledge about her is that she said hello with a German accent and one of the dogs was appropriately named “Fritzie.” It looked to me like a cross between a miniature pinscher and a dachshund.
In the last few years there would occasionally be weeks where her husband would walk the dogs instead. Eventually, though, she would return and for months or longer she would once again be the one taking the dogs out for their daily constitutional.
But in the last year or so, I haven’t seen her. After several months went by, seeing only her husband walking first both dogs then, sadly, only one, I assumed she had passed away.
My first thought at seeing the dumpster in the driveway was to wonder if her husband, too, had gone on to eternity. I’m happy to say that although he doesn’t walk the dog any more, I did see him even after the dumpster appeared. And someone, his son perhaps, someone who is at least a generation younger, has walked little Fritzie a couple of times lately. This younger man has been staying there and filling that dumpster. (This is my best effort at Gladys-like observation.)
All in the effort to share how the whole episode reminded me sharply of the dumpster that was delivered, filled, then carted away from the home my parents lived in for many years. Years of accumulated . . . stuff . . . ended up in the trash, after my siblings and I claimed what we wanted to keep.
So as I imagined what was going on in that house down the block, sifting through memories and decay, it reminded me once again to look at the stuff I’m accumulating in my own house with an eye on where it’s all going to end up.
Okay, this is the last posting I’m going to do about death for a while. Because even though I heartily believe that death has lost its sting for those who have trusted in the incredible grace Christ provides, I still recognize its permanence. I may look forward to being reunited with loved ones someday, but this time of separation is still hard enough not to want to dwell on it . . . at least not for more than two blog posts.
So chin up and don’t be afraid to visit next week!
*If you don’t know who Gladys Kravitz is, you’ve missed one of the silliest and unlikeliest classic t.v. shows ever created – Bewitched.
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