It is by far the worst of all household tasks.
It might be my superhuman olfactory senses. Or because the colossal effort it requires to take out the trash remains unappreciated to the naked eye, tucked under the sink. It may have a smidge to do with the fact that I have a child in diapers.
Suffice it to say, I would rather do anything else.
Knowing my bitter resistance to this task, it may surprise you to hear that Jesus asked me to take out the garbage.
Not too long ago, God put a very specific dream in my heart: He asked me to start a fitness ministry at my church. Uber-specific to my giftings. Innovative. A bit weird. God-breathed. It ticked off all the spiritual goodness boxes.
The only catch? Erm . . .I reeeeeeallllllly didn’t want to do it.
I was petrified to take even the teensiest step forward. This dream would require me to speak up, and I was more of a blend-in-with-the-masses churchgoer. It would mean asking my well-oiled machine of a mega church to listen to my presumptuous ideas. And there was also this kicker: the very real possibility that I would fail. And fail HARD.
About the time this dream began buzzing around my mind like an irritating fly, I saw an ad for media department volunteers in the church bulletin.
I signed up immediately.
I was keenly aware that the media department was not the task I had been called to. I pushed aside the glaring reality that I had never before taken an interest in anything remotely related to media. I mean, I’m not even on Instagram.
But, you see, when Jesus put that little fitness ministry seedling in my heart, I responded the exact same way I would to being asked to take out the trash: I offered to clean the bedroom (hello media department!). I jumped to do something-anything- else. Something that was not quite what I was asked to do, but still a perfectly respectable, spiritual thing. And at least it was something for Jesus, right? He should be thrilled, right?
I showed up all sparkly to my first Sunday morning media session. I was ushered into a tiny soundproof booth and sat in a swivel chair, two joysticks and a small screen in front of me.
“Did you play a lot of video games as a kid?” my supervisor asked, obviously expecting an answer in the affirmative.
Mutely, I shook my head.
He looked surprised (re: shocked), but was still buoyantly confident I would catch on quickly.
I did not.