The Litterbug

I caught him red-handed. I saw everything and now I am going to teach him the lesson, announced our self-appointed Angel of Justice, holding a large plastic cupcake container, empty except for the smears of pink, yellow and green frosting. 

C brought cupcakes to school for his birthday, I am told.  At the end of the day he was left with the empty container which he generously offered to A.  A accepted the offer, but when he got on his bike, he realized that the cumbersome piece of useless plastic was too cumbersome to handle and tossed it into the street. He rode off carefree, the container now turned into a piece of litter, not really his problem, since it didn't belong to him in the first place and it was in his possession for a very short time.

Hmmm... I deliberate, wondering what would be the best way to approach the sticky situation.  And how exactly are you intending to teach him the lesson?

I will write a note, DO NOT LITTER, tape it on the container, and put it on his front lawn. I know where he lives.  THAT will teach him.  He'll know how it FEELS to have litter on his OWN property.

Wouldn't that be considered littering? I ask gently and then watch the agony of the conflicting moral choices slowly arise and begin to wage war behind those dark brown eyes. 

But... but it is the RIGHT thing to do.  If I don't do it, he'll never learn not to litter. 

She is clutching the crumpled container as if the moral fabric of the universe will unravel if the little white-knuckled hands let go. Carrying the burden of responsibility for other people's choices makes her shoulders sag.

I know the feeling all too well.  But, how do I show, how do I explain to my Angel of Justice that there is also the Angel of Mercy at her side?

She storms out, and I hear the garage door open. I want to run, I want to scream and plead,

Please, don't do this.  Just throw it away, but please... don't... 

Instead, I stand glued to the floor, resisting the urge to yank the choice out of her hand… praying... for me... for her. 

What will she do? What will she choose?

She comes in few minutes later, empty-handed and walks into her room.  I push the flood of questions rising inside.  I hold off the torrent of sermons. Later that afternoon, I take an empty milk container into the garage and as I am about to toss it into recycling, I see the cupcake container resting silent among the glass jars, water bottles and cans.  

Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ and behold, the log is in your own eye? Matthew 7:3-4