Two guys catch my attention as they walk past the McDonald’s booth where I sit. They are leaving the restaurant, and as they approach the door, the second guy tosses a wadded up cheeseburger wrapper toward the opening of the trash can.
He misses. The wrapper ricochets off the can and lands on the floor.
I keep watching, and I see the guy hesitate, incline his body slightly toward the wrapper. I notice a bit of a stutter step, and I think he’s going to bend down, pick up the trash, and throw it away.
But he doesn’t. The brief hesitation fades back into a smooth stride toward the door. The guy heads to the parking lot with his friend, leaving the burger wrapper on the floor next to the trash can.
I see myself in this guy. Not in his propensity to litter, but in this:
How many times a day do I notice the opportunity to do something good, to make something right, to improve my surroundings in some way? How many times do I break my stride, hesitate, incline my body or my soul toward that goodness?
And how often do I shake that inclination off before I take action? How often do I let that holy hesitation fade back into a stride toward whatever goal I had before the opportunity arose?
So often. So very very often. I see the good I could do, and so often, I don’t do it.
I leave metaphorical trails of crumpled burger wrappers behind me all the time.