Dumpster Diva

I think dumpster diving should be considered one of the love languages. For me, dumpster diving is a way of showing myself that I love myself so much and want to stay true to my thrifty side, that I am willing to rummage through stinky trash in hopes of a rare treasure of a bookshelf, old chair, table, or maybe even the occasional musical instrument. It can also be a way we show we care about others. Today in the trash, I found a (very ugly, but practical) table for a friend. It was heavier and dirtier than anticipated, but I eventually got it home. I bet if Jesus lived in an apartment, he would dumpster dive.

My pastor talked about love today. Love is Jesus' biggest message. Even with the most difficult and complicated problems, it should be easy to act if we can just remember everything boils down to love. A Christian school principal from Kenya said that the two rules for his students is 1. love for God 2. love for people. If his students can remember those, everything else falls into place. It would be really great if the rest of the world could act under such simple rules. The problem is that we don't remember. We forget so quickly how lucky we are to be loved so much. We forget that everyone around us should feel our love too. A man from my school returned from a mission trip to Borneo. He said, 'It's not enough to write a check and say a prayer.' He meant that you have to show up and show them who God is through your love. The monkeys in Bali managed to show more love to one another than I usually show to most people, much less to God! Argh. I am quite a disappointment at times.

Many Balinese are Hindu and have various rituals to honor their god. One of these is to bathe in a holy spring. Each spout has a different purpose; to cleanse their soul, heart, mind, body, brain? At any rate, by the time they're done, they're pretty much wrinkly raisins. Its kind of like the water park in Wisconsin Dells. Everyone goes there for some water fun and relaxation! You can also see the offerings made at each water spout; offerings of flowers, money, incense, and rice. Apparently rice is the food choice of gods. If I were a god, I'd at least request some Oreos or cheesecake. Come on Bali, Santa gets better treats.

Bali reminded me that I don't need to give anything to God other than my heart. Everything else will fall into place after that. No ritual, no amount of holy water, no offering, will unlock the love He has for me - it's already there on the table, with a side of kimchi, ready for me to dig in. I just have to show up and eat.