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I try to be Christ-like. I try to do the right things. I try to say the right words. I try to think the right thoughts.
I try to smile at people as they pass. I try to support the appropriate causes. I try to love my neighbors even when they don’t love me back. I try to be kind and supportive to those in need.
Every day, I try to be like Christ.
Every day, I fail. I laugh at the wrong joke. I pass judgment on someone else’s life. I turn a blind eye to life’s injustice.
I’m a wannabe environmentalist. Humanity has put a huge strain on the earth and it’s up to us to revise our way of life to repair and prevent future damage. But if I’m completely honest, I don’t really do my fair share. Yes, we recycle more than we throw away. We adjust our thermostats so we’re cold in the winter and hot in the summer. And I don’t run the water while I brush my teeth.
But, I don’t always remember to take my reusable mug to Starbucks. I commute in my car, by myself more than 30 minutes to work every day. I love the personal-sized package of Oreo cookies. And as a parent, there are some moments I believe even the most ardent, earth-loving, card-carrying environmentalist would buckle to ozone burning temptation. Here are a few temptations to which I’ve fallen prey:
Watching Squirts throw a ball – or anything else – is like watching a physics experiment in kinetic energy. The act of launching the object from his hand involves some aspect of every visible part of his body. As his right hand pulls back with the ball, his left arm juts out with a fist curled under. His tongue sticks out in one direction or another, often giving away the final destination of the object in question. His eyes either squeeze shut or bulge open. And at the last moment his left leg lifts and swings in an awkward arch in an attempt to make the ball fly as far as possible.
If he could raise both legs at the same time, he’d probably give it a shot.
Every four weeks, Squirts and I head to Shannon’s place to get our hairs cut. Since Squirts started going to a salon instead of the local SuperCuts, we haven’t had any complaints from him on hair cut days. It may be that as one of the first clients in the shop, Squirts has the undivided attention of Shannon (or as Squirts has named her, “Queen of the Hair Place”) and two or three other ladies who happen to be in that early. I’ve heard that little boys don’t like to have their cheeks pinched and be fussed over—you couldn’t prove it by my kid.
On the other hand, it could be that our monthly ritual also includes a stop at the donut shop after our hair cuts.
