The Kitchen Garbage.
With two plastic bags over one hand and the other covering my face, I meticulously picked through the waste, searching.
I killed time by questioning my life. How did it come to this? How did my Monday unravel into an evening of gagging over the week-end's egg shells and avocado peels marinating in garbage juices?
Because of The Sieve.
The Sieve is the family monster. Unfortunately, it doesn't just stay put in the closet, or under the bed. It creeps into our pockets, schedules, even our brains. It snags keys, hair dresser appointments, what we were going to say next, etc. Last year, my mom lost her iPhone. It was a month of searching high and low, to no avail. She had been Sieved. That was pretty bad, but my dad takes the prize: last week, he put his $3,000 hearing aids in his front pocket. When he went to change the batteries a few hours later-- his pocket was empty. Sieved.
I have had some pretty noteworthy Sieve moments myself. Most recently, I have lost my driver's license. Which brings us to Monday. I searched every pocket of every outfit. I emptied out a wallet, two purses and a car. I crawled around on the floor, scoured the driveway, retraced every step of the week-end.
There was only one place left to look. So, wrapped in plastic and holding my breath, I tackled the garbage.
Let's leave me there for a minute, dumpster diving in my kitchen, untangling tea bag and shuffling through pieces of paper.
Go five miles north, where my dad is at the church for a prayer meeting. This was part of his prayer,
"Lord, I know those hearing aids are long gone, and I can't replace them anytime soon. But, if there is any way that they could be found, I know you can make it happen. I trust you for it, I'm letting it go right now."
Back to me. Look what I found in some tissues.
License is still MIA but I can hear, loud and clear: don't worry about it.
In the meantime, I'm checking the fridge.
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