The Day the Dumpster Arrived
Some acts of faith look dramatic. This one looked like a dumpster in our driveway.
It arrived this week, nearly two years after my decision to walk away from a corporate role at Nationwide.
That career change had been clear and decisive. I stepped away from a trajectory I had spent decades building and moved into a different kind of work. I trusted God with direction, identity, and provision. That choice mattered. It changed my title, my rhythms, and how I defined success.
But surrender has layers.
Two years later, life had settled. The transition no longer felt urgent. In many ways, that made the next step harder, not easier.
We decided to downsize. Not because we had to, but because we wanted to live with open hands. We sensed that God was inviting us to make space for what might be next. That meant stepping away from what still worked and what still felt comfortable.
Scripture speaks directly to this posture:
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:18–19 NIV)
The challenge is not remembering the past. The challenge is holding it too tightly.
The dumpster forced honest choices. We were not throwing away junk. We were letting go of useful, sensible things we had kept just in case. Boxes of items that still worked. Things that made sense to keep. Things that quietly said, “You might need this if the future does not unfold the way you hope.”
Comfort is often just fear that has learned to sound reasonable.
Two years ago, God asked me to surrender ambition. This time, He asked me to surrender my grip and my comfort.
Jesus described the cost of clinging with simple clarity:
“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62 NIV)
An open hand cannot hold on to the past. It also does not need to. Open hands are free to receive, free to respond, and free to move when God leads. The dumpster became a practical way of saying we were no longer choosing familiarity over faith or preserving a former season simply because it felt safer.
You may already sense what God is inviting you to release. Not because it is wrong, but because it belongs to a season that has passed.
When the dumpster was finally hauled away, nothing dramatic happened. The driveway was empty again, and so were our hands.
A Brief Reflection
Where might God be inviting you to step out of what feels comfortable? Not to punish you, but to prepare you.
Faith rarely requires clenched fists. More often, it begins with open hands.
