Day 189

2 Kings 5–6 | Matthew 11 | Psalm 80

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It’s “Operation Cleanup” week in our neighborhood.

Once a year, the city sends out a fleet of backhoes and dump trucks to collect anything we want to throw away. Broken furniture. Rusted yard tools. Appliances that haven’t worked in a decade. You name it—if it doesn’t work, if you don’t want it, just drag it to the curb and they’ll haul it away.

But here’s what always amazes me.

Almost everything we put out is gone before the city ever shows up.

Last night, I put out an old composter and a garbage bin that’s cracked and crooked and barely rolls anymore. By the time I woke up this morning, they were both gone. Picked clean. What looked like junk to me looked like possibility to someone else.

And just like that—God started whispering.

The Stuff We Discard

We all have stuff we don’t want anymore.

Stuff that doesn’t work like it used to.

Things we’re tired of carrying, tired of fixing, tired of defending.

And sometimes, it’s not a physical thing at all.

It’s a version of ourselves.

A chapter we’re ashamed of.

A calling we ran from.

A failure we’ve dragged to the curb—hoping it disappears before anyone sees it.

But God does.

And He doesn’t walk past it.

He stoops. Picks it up. And says, “This still bears My image.”

Redemption in the River

Naaman didn’t want the Jordan River.

He was a decorated general. A man of stature. He brought gold, silver, and an entourage to match. And when Elisha didn’t even come to the door, but instead sent instructions to go dip seven times in a dirty river, Naaman stormed off.

He almost missed his healing because the method didn’t match his pride.

But when he humbled himself, something happened.

His skin was restored.

His pride was stripped.

And his heart was changed.

All because God used what Naaman would’ve thrown away.

God Doesn’t Lose Axe Heads

Later in 2 Kings 6, a borrowed axe head flies off mid-swing and sinks into the river.

It’s small. Insignificant, maybe. But it wasn’t his.

And it mattered.

So Elisha doesn’t say, “Oh well.”

He makes it float.

Because that’s what God does.

He restores what others call lost.

He retrieves what others would overlook.

He sees the value—even in the things no one else would bother to rescue.

Come to Me, All You Who Are… Tired

And just when we think God only rescues what’s useful—He turns to the weary, the wounded, and the worn out… and invites them to rest

In Matthew 11, Jesus doesn’t preach to the put-together.

He praises the childlike.

Condemns the prideful.

And then invites the weary:

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Not shame.

Not rejection.

Not a list of things to clean up before you’re welcome.

Just rest.

But not without a calling.

Because that same passage ends with a yoke.

A burden that’s light, but still real.

A purpose that lifts, but still leads.

Jesus doesn’t just carry off the parts we’re done with—He breathes new purpose into what we thought was past saving.

He’s Not Done with What You’ve Given Up On

Maybe today you’ve dragged some part of yourself to the curb.

Maybe it’s your confidence. Your joy. Your past.

Maybe it’s your usefulness, your story, your voice.

Maybe it’s your belief that God still has something for you—that He still sees you.

But He does.

You are not rusted out.

You are not past saving.

You are not someone else’s “before” story.

Because grace has a way of pulling over, lifting what everyone else has written off, and saying, “This still matters.”

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Lord, thank You for being the kind of God who doesn’t pass by the parts of me I’ve already discarded. Thank You for stooping, lifting, and reclaiming what I’ve called worthless. Use what I’ve tried to bury. Restore what I thought was beyond repair. Because You never waste what You redeem. Amen.