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Over my landfill’s cement wall, where people pull up to toss their trash into the dumpster below, I survey what has been discarded: outdated computer towers and screens, broken fans, dusty vacuum cleaners, boxes full of who knows what. I see a red plastic scooter — the kind my son rode as a toddler. Lots of kids had the same scooter. They straddled the seat to push themselves with both feet. A black circular handle attached to the back allows the protective trailing parent to push or steer.
Now 16, my son recently graduated from learner’s permit to driver’s license. This milestone happened while I was away on a work trip. I got home after he was already in bed, and then I slept in the next morning. I awoke to discover my son was already on the road, driving himself to school. I wondered how much I’ll see him now that he is free to drive himself wherever he needs or wants to go.
Here in the landfill, I am reminded how much of life is letting go. Toddlers grow up to be teenagers. Toys are outgrown and tossed. In the face of all this change, I need someone steady with whom I can share my grief and can lament all this unavoidable loss, while still embracing the hope and joy that change brings. Maybe you need this refuge, too? Lent reminds us of our refuge in the wilderness – or the landfill – our steadfast rock of support. God is our refuge in the face of change.
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