Why I Love Going to the Denver Dump

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“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.” Matthew 6:19

You won’t find it on Trip Adviser. You won’t see a flashing ad for it when arriving at Denver International Airport. No slick brochure at the visitor center will point you to it. And you certainly won’t hear about it from the locals. But in my humble opinion, one of the greatest destinations in Denver is the Denver Dump. (My name for it. It’s real name is Front Range Land Fill.)

My love affair with that 300 foot high mountain of trash began three years ago when I re-roofed my home. To save a few bucks, I purchased a used van from a crime scene investigator to haul the old shingles to the dump myself instead of paying someone to do it. He must have used that van at a lot of crime scenes because it had over 300,000 miles on it. I figured it still had enough life in it to make the two trips to the dump I thought it would take to remove the old shingles I needed to tear off.

Turns out, it took six trips to get rid of those nasty old shingles. But with each trip to that dump, I found myself enjoying it more and more.

First of all, The Denver Dump offers one of the best unobstructed views of the Rockies available. What a contrast when I look at those mountains while standing on the personal belongings of a million people! Under me, all the discarded refuse of the Front Range: old furniture, splintered wood, broken pictures, shattered glass. In front of me, God’s amazing creation: gigantic mountains covered with forest and snow.

And then there is the excitement of “off-roading” near gigantic earth moving machines. One get’s the impression the guys driving them spent their entire childhoods playing with Tonka Toys. With just a few hand movements they move entire mountains of trash, or, more accurately, crush it to smithereens.

The tinge of danger from driving around massive machinery sends a rush of adrenaline through me every time. It’s reinforced by the warning signs as I drive up the mountain of trash: “Do not use your cell phones!” “Safety is no accident.” “Your family called and they want you to buckle up.”

Yesterday I took a load of old furniture and carpet to the Denver Dump and one of those warning signs really stood out. I think it’s the best warning sign of all: “Is your load worth your life.”

“Wow! What great theology!!!” I thought to myself as I tossed chairs, beds and kitchen cabinets from the truck. Of course, the sign is telling us to be careful or we’re going to die out there. But another way of understanding it is, “So…is it worth it spending your entire life sweating to have these things you are now throwing out of a UHaul truck?”

As I mulled over this thought, I found myself throwing my junk harder and further and finding deep pleasure in watching it disintegrate as it hit the pile. There’s something cathartic in no longer caring about mere objects. It was as if I had been their puppet and I was now cutting the strings.

Maybe there are some other strings I need to cut as well.

This post first appeared in NewCommandment.org.

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