Hearts, Flowers, and Dumpsters

When we think of symbols of love the first things that come to mind are hearts, flowers, cupid, and rings. Pictures of that romantic, Valentine's Day kind of love. Nothing wrong with that. Romantic love is wonderful, needed, and gives us great joy. But the symbols of deep, sacrificial love are never that pretty. They are often disturbing, ugly, and painful just like the sacrifice they represent. This kind of love is what keeps us going when times get tough. When we have been loved sacrificially we feel special and worthy, not because of anything we have done, but because someone else thought we were worth sacrificing for.

Yesterday Stan added a dumpster to that list of love symbols. It wasn't pretty. In fact, it was smelly, dirty, uncomfortable and messy. It is something that I would not have done for myself, but, out of his love for me, Stan went dumpster diving. Last Thursday I left a special blanket at the park. It was another love symbol given to me by my daughter for Christmas, but with keeping track of extra kids to be picked up, gathering other people's left behinds and trying to get my kids home in time for evening activities, I forgot it. I didn't even realize that I had forgotten it until Friday night. That meant that it was going to be Monday before I could get back to see if it was still around. Stan offered to go to the park for me on Monday while he was at work.

He did. He hunted down the parks guy and asked about my blanket. He was told that it was most likely in the bottom of the dumpster. That huge dumpster in the parking lot. The one full of weekend debris from those who had enjoyed the lovely weather we have been having and the remains of softball tournament celebrations. I wouldn't have climbed in. I would just have mourned the loss of the blanket and gone on. Not my sweet, loving husband. His love for me moved him to dig in that dumpster to the very bottom. After finding another blanket, he almost gave up thinking the parks manager was mistaken, but he didn't stop until he reached the bottom. There it was. A mess that he brought home and washed and hung on the line so that I would feel blessed and loved and cherished. I am a fortunate woman.

His actions reminded me of another ugly symbol of sacrificial love. The cross. It isn't pretty. It is a symbol of a horrible, ugly, painful way to die. At the time, it was the most shameful way to be killed. In spite of this, Jesus willingly went to the cross to take the penalty for my sin. His great love led Him to sacrificial love so that I would know how deeply I am loved and that I am priceless in His eyes. That is true love beyond measure.