Trash

Written in memory of my uncle whom was a devoted street minister.

You walk through the mire and discuss the value of all the trinkets and rejected parts.

Broken winds and tattered clothes; there are stories in them that need to be told.

You walk around and discard that which is used, and never look back again.

My friend, that is because you don't understand the mission of this man.

 

Let me give you a life lesson. Here it goes.

 

Those windows with cracked panes are representing the thousands of souls that have walked through this door. Many of them lost their way. Their vision was distorted and their own tears distracted them from God's divine purpose.

 

The torn rags which rested in banana boxes: they were the rags that were offered to a king so that he maybe born.

 It was the best that some of these souls could afford. Many victims of themselves, yet others were victims of the fact that they, like this king, lived a broken life as a sacrifice to others.

 

The tattered sheets that have been sifted through and thrown into pits of fire.

They were visions of the Son of God as he was hung upon the cross, broken and abused for our transgressions.s

 

The toys that seem to have overtaken the boxes that were used to contain them.

Well I guess it is funny that you should ask me about those.

The toys were a constant reminder of all the things that I have in my life to entertain me and take my mind away from God's divine purpose.

 

Little figurines with broken and cracked bodies.

I ask you my friend, are we pure,

Or have we not all suffered some sort of imperfection?

 

So I ask you today are those things once considered trash so worthless when there is a piece of yourself in them?

 

One more thing before I go.

 

The books on those shelves contain the lives us all throughout the days of time.

I wonder what they have written about you and me?