A lesson in trust

This morning’s impression was not to stop and do my hair before leaving the house. Looking in the mirror I realised not doing it at all wasn’t going to be a workable option, but I decided to listen this time and just did a quick tidy, rather than the usual undo, spray, comb through, plait, pin, etc. I figured now must be the moment to leave, and I didn’t have time for that.

Running downstairs I saw the flashing lights of a refuse truck through the door’s frosted glass – to my confusion. Today’s not a Monday, what are the bin men doing…eek! Friday! It must be a garden waste week!

Since summer our brown garden waste bin has been so full that I can hardly drag it two inches, let alone round the side of the house and down the steps to the street for collection. Choosing not to believe the council man’s assurances that the collections were still going despite it being winter, I’d resigned myself to having to struggle with the thing sometime in spring.

Shoes on, rushed out to the man loading the back of the truck and explained my weighty wheelie predicament. Obliging, if unimpressed with the prospect of a heavy load, he came through to the back and removed the offending recepticle, rolling it back towards me afterwards with a pleasant, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t that heavy.”

It was only a little later that I realised that, had I got on with my hair as normal, I would never have noticed and managed to get my predicament sorted. (Or mown the lawn again for a while!)

Time and again when I can’t see the reason for something, it turns out that if I could do the impossible and see forward in time, the very thing I’m questioning is the choice I would make.

Grateful for every experience that reminds me to listen. And for bin men who are stronger than I am!


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