His wife had misplaced her new iPod that he had bought her for Christmas last year. He asked if she had looked in the cushions of the chair. She told him it wasn't there. He asked her if she had looked in the bedroom. She told him it wasn't there either. “What about your purse,” he asked. “I already checked there,” she told him, exasperated. She said she thought she dropped it into the trash. He was about to ask if she had looked there as well when he realized he had brought the trash out to the dumpster.
He could not believe what he was doing. The things that his wife had him do sometimes. He drove over and proceeded rummage through the dumpster, removing every bag and ripping them open. This went on for some time and with each bag, the mess became larger and larger. “This is revolting,” he thought as little bits of food stuck to his arms and hands. As someone with a mild case of OCD, he wanted so badly to wipe the grime and filth off of himself, but he knew that he would merely get dirty all over again, so he pierced a new bag and plunged in.
Suddenly, a car drove up and a man got out to ask for directions; and here he was standing amidst a strewn pile of trash and debris, looking like a lunatic. He told him how to get to wherever it was that he was going and the man went on his way, probably wondering if he could trust a guy who probably looked homeless, and apparently, very interested in that dumpster.
Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, he got a phone call. He took his phone out with his goop covered hands and answered with a frustrated, “What?”
“Jim,” his wife said on the other line.
“I found it.”
Relieved, but furious at the same time he asked, “Where was it?”
“Just like you said,” she responded with a lovingly tone. “It was in my purse, way down at the bottom.”
The pastor just shook his head. Frustrated, but knowing this would make a great story to tell, he began to throw the mounds of trash back where it came from.
“How can I fit this into Sunday's message?”