Garbage Eve

When I was growing up, we used to call the night before the garbage man came "Garbage Eve". I forgot all about that until I was with my Dad this weekend. He saw some stray garbage cans on our street, and said "Oh, it must be Garbage Eve."

Mark's response was something like, "No, Garbage Eve for us is on Tuesday nights. We just have some neighbors who like to celebrate all week long."

Garbage Eve . . . this gives you a taste of my family's sense of humor. There were so many other quirky things my Dad came up with through the years. He can be such a goofball.

From the invention of the Fritznickle (french bread toasted with melted cheese and a dash of garlic powder), to the goat head that hung in our living room - yes, I said goat head. My Dad's outdoor hobbies and obsession with snacks always made being home interesting. Growing up, I always knew that we marched to the beat of a different drum. But honestly, who doesn't?

I wonder what spiritual analogy God will have me pull out of that one. Maybe just the fact that I get so much joy out of those haphazard memories. As quirky as they are, they are the bits and pieces of what make up who I am today.

Now I will not go as far as to say that I am still broken, lost, full of anger and emptiness. All of that "garbage" has been shed, due to the blood of Christ. But playing with home-made water guns and eating dried fruit until I was sick - all of that good stuff will stick.

So in your own quirkiness . . . what are you celebrating "The Eve" of tonight?

Life is to be celebrated.