A load of…

He’s a tiny little garbage truck, and he picks up loads every day. He scoots around my mind in circles, and only thinks about his work. Every load that he puts in the bed of his truck becomes garbage, because that’s his identity. Then he shows it to me as garbage, because that’s how he gets credit for his work.

His loads are made up of a variety of things and they have unique identities before he puts them in his truck, but as soon as they hit the bed of it, they transform into garbage. He feels freedom to roam everywhere in my mind, and whatever he wants to pick up, he does.

He talks to me, when he is reporting on his work, and when I listen to him, his message influences my mind, actions and emotions.

All of the things he sees in my mind could be his next load. His favorite place to roam is into the caverns of my memories that I have deemed as “bad choices”. He also really likes recent experiences that I haven’t made my own opinion on yet.

He works all day and he reports on his loads instantaneously, but I can hear him most consistently reporting when I’m laying in bed trying to fall asleep. The reports are also pretty clear when I’m alone; and in actuality, feeling “lonely”.

When I listen to him, my emotions accept the message before my mind does, then my brain formulates an action of response. Because the dump truck doesn’t expect responses, he actually puts boundaries around his messages in hopes I’ll just take and receive them as is.

The loads he picks up have endless forms. They include conversations I had with someone, my behavior in an important meeting, a mistake I made and apologized for already, and the thing I told myself I’d do but failed to.

The reports he gives me from the bed of his truck fall into three simple categories: “Not enough”, “Too much,” and “Messed up.” His conclusion with the the reports often also include a “never,” “always”, and “should have.”

When I was younger and I thought he was my friend, I actually thought he was a robot, with a little tiny flashlight, illuminating things that would force me to grow in my Christian walk. He was like my own internal, nagging, self-help tool. He’s not a robot with a flashlight. He’s really a dump truck who makes trash.

Recently, it seems as if he hasn’t found a load. It’s not that he’s not working. I feel him spinning around my mind each night, but he is unable to report on anything, let alone pick it up. It’s actually resulted in my falling asleep peacefully, liking myself, and being content with how I invested my day. That’s when I realized he wasn’t my friend or self-help buddy.

His name is condemnation.

Besides the presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I’m not sure why he’s been so unsuccessful lately. I wish I could tell you something that I personally did, because you probably call a contracted worker a friend too, and you probably are ready to get him fired.

Mine was named condemnation and his success is directly related to his ability to influence my thoughts about my experiences, myself and my God in a negative way. He has friends. And they’re all busy at work, but it’s up to us how much we hear them and how much their reports influence our mind, body and emotions.

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