Yes, I Went Through the Trash and It was Worth It.

It was the conversation I needed to have.  After many thoughts of wondering and trying to plan how I’d ask, I just came out with it.

I asked why my Dad took the pivot in life that he did.

We were at breakfast at a sidewalk cafe in Southern California. People around us munched on their food while I sat quite daunted in my chair.  This question had been looming in me for sometime.  I hadn't seen Dad in a while and now was my chance to ask.  

So, he whips out a napkin and a pen and starts drawing a map for me.  Dad explains how he realized he would only be able to achieve his dream if he took another route; not the direct route he initially set his course to.  I followed this map feeling consoled and overwhelmed.  It was the place where I have long been too.

Tears stung my eyes.  

“Candice, what’s wrong?”  He inquired.

“This is where I have been.”  I felt hurt, frustrated, sad, relived… probably 45 emotions all in one feel swoop.  Did I mention exhausted?  I felt that too.

Isn’t that the case for many of us?  

We set our hearts, minds and sails in one direction and go full force into gaining it, only to come up flat with not what we intended in hand.

Frustrated we press on and on and on, trying to assimilate any way to just for the love get there only to again not be able to find what we seek.  Baffling!!

As many can attest, pursuing a dream can take forever to achieve. 

So I watched my Dad draw his plan on this napkin as I battled the tears welling up in my eyes.  Dad further revealed the path of how he’d finally attain his dream.  It all seemed so clear.  And yes, I could do this too.

A sigh of relief…. At long last.   

My Dad then leaves the table for a few moments and I sit there glad for the time to get this girl under some control.  I mean, really?  Tears, go away!  Ever felt like that?  Ssheessh.  What got into me that morning? Can you say, embarrassing??

The sun shined its warmth on me, distracting the tears and thankfully, subsiding them.  I took in the atmosphere.  A café by the coast, ahh.  This is nice.

I thought about Dad’s plan and just how special it was.  It was something I could do and understood.  The breeze blew and took my remaining emotions with it.  Finally. I basked in the sun.  Ahh.  The day seemed hopeful. 

Dad returned and off we went.  We toured around the café and then went to his office where we discussed his plan more.  

Then the thought hit me….

“Dad, where is the napkin?”

I scrambled around searching for this treasured artifact.  Not in the purse.  Not in my pockets.  But, where…?  Oh no…

I left it on the table. 

I had been so focused on trying to regain composure that I let this priceless piece sit there and be left.  I had to go get it. 

I darted to the restaurant.  Sure enough, someone else was sitting at the table.  Drat! Not there.

I asked the waiter where might it be.  Where else?  The trash?  Oh no.

The waiter showed me the humongous filled trashcan by the dishwasher where only food and table remnants go.  It was topped off with green goop and slimy.  I don’t do slime.   

I think I heard it growl too.

The waiter escorted me out.  “You can look through it if you want, but it’s gross,” he said in his lackadaisical, yet uppity, California tone. 

More tears filled my eyes.  “It’s important to me.  But I get it.  It’s gross.”  I walked off. 

Then the water works turned on.  What in the world was wrong with me?  I found some benches and sat down.  I thought about how this napkin, which was probably by now, completely ruined, but also potentially sitting in that trash can 100 yards away from me.  

This napkin had my father’s revelation of how he’d reach his dream, handwritten on there just for me.  These were my Father’s words.  Of course he could rewrite them.  He’d be glad too.  But, it wasn’t the original. 

The thoughts loomed in my head.  Do I or don’t I? 

It was the original.  It was the one I poured my eyes out over.  It was the one where I finally admitted that I was on the same track.  There is nothing like the original.

I walked back to the restaurant looked the waiter square in the eyes and said:  “I get it.  It’s gross.”  I took off my watch.  “But, it’s important.”

So, they lead me back to the trashcan.  The dishwasher lugged it to the back of the restaurant.  It was heavy.  Really heavy.  The waitress handed me a gigantic spoon and the uppity waiter said (in so many words): “Good luck.  You’re not going to find it.”

I looked into the pit of green slime, nasty waste complete with smells of water and trash and started digging, hopefully that this napkin was in there unharmed. 

I dug.

And I dug. 

And I dug.

The dishwasher and one of the kitchen helpers returned with extra trashcans and gloves taking pity on me and asking if I had found the napkin. 

Nope, not yet.

Soon enough the large spoon wasn’t cutting it.  I snapped on the gloves and dove my hands in.  

Using the gloves was definitely more efficient, but there is something about sifting through other people’s discarded chewed up food and used napkins with a thin piece of plastic covering your hands that is just…. ick.  (And let’s just say I am on the outer orbits of being considered a germ-a-phobe.)

But the hope set before me, that I could find this napkin, dissolved or not, kept me going. 

During my search, people would walk by and stare.  “What are you doing?” 

Sure, my actions were questionable.  But I had a legitimate reason that I’d explain.  Some people would empathize; others were snotty.  To one guy I retorted:  “If it’s that important, wouldn’t you?”  That got him.  Tail between his stocky legs he admitted: “Yeah.  I would.”  Off he went.  Good.

And frankly, I questioned my actions the whole time.  My time of sloshing my hands through this disgusting mess had me on a few trains of thought:

“You are your Dad’s daughter.  What are you doing in the trash?  He will re-write this for you.”

“What if he came by and saw you or what if others talked about this to him?  He’d be so embarrassed, angry, mad.”

My counter to my own critiques kicked in.  “But, these are my Father’s words.  They mean everything.  The original could be right there.  I could find it.  I could have it.”

Thus, there in lay where my heart was.  I had to find them.  I had to keep going.

And then another thought hit me. 

“It’s like the Father’s words.  God’s word is that valuable too.”

His word is so vital to our lives, it is where one should stop at nothing to seek, find and apply it, writing it on each of our hearts, “for it will prolong your days,” Deut. 5:33.

Then, other cases began to formulate: 

--We are God’s treasured children.  What are we doing in the trash? 

Why do we find ourselves rummaging through filth to find the things that we need to let go of and move forward without?   

We should not volitionally put ourselves into the trash of sin where we will could impact or destroy part of or all of our lives.

--Life has a way of throwing trash at us.  Precious items, like my napkin, represent seasons in our life or people/things/dreams of value that are lost.    How will we respond? 

-- Maybe sometimes we are called to go to the filthy parts of our communities or the world to minister to others who have not heard the hope that we know.  Maybe we are called to go into the trash, just like Christ did to find His treasure.

Above all?  Christ came from the Heavens to Earth (which in comparison could be a trashball) where we reside in filthy sins day in and day out.  We, you and me, were that important to Him that He drew us out of our crimson stain and washed us white as snow.  He gave us His perfect word, for us to seek to instruct our lives and to use to continually draw us closer to Him.

The clash of all these thoughts kept my brain going as the hope of finding this napkin kept me digging and digging.

I finally got to the bottom of the barrel.  Nothing.  I went back through my piles of separated napkins and trash just to check again.  I found a pen similar to the one Dad used.  

Then, a napkin with pen on it…. 

Oh my gosh!!!  

Could it be?

I investigated further, but sadly, it was not the one I was looking for. 

And that was the last of it.  No more trash.  No more rubbage.  No napkin to be found.

The uppity waiter returned.  “Told you wouldn’t find it.”

“I know,” I replied.  “But it was worth the search.  Now I know that I did what I could and I can walk in peace.”

I thanked everyone profusely and left.  I didn’t smell great.  I also tried to avoid walking past the store for the rest of the trip.

I never told my Dad what had occurred that day.   Hopefully, none of the restaurant staff will either. 

But I know what I have hidden in my heart.  A drawn memory of the route my Father took and the words of my Father in Heaven.   Both are that important.  

Both are worth the search through the trash to find them.

Dad and Me along the shores of Southern California, 2014.
© Candice Irion

Copy and Photograph © Candice Irion.  All Rights Reserved.