For instance, starting next quarter, I'm going to be the editor of the Forsyth County Humane Society newsletter. I love me some animals, but I'm not in a position to foster or adopt any
The other day I got a call from a friend who we went to church with when Noah was a youth minister. Her kids' school is having a literature contest (poems and stories on the theme "Beauty is...") and she wanted to know if I'd be the judge.
I'll go ahead and admit that one of my main character flaws is liking the idea of sitting in judgment of others when in reality I HATE judging (unless I'm the one being judged, and I'm winning), a fact I always forget while I'm basking in the warmth of flattery. I mean, I don't even like watching the end of dog shows, because I can't stand that only one dog can win, and it's usually the standard poodle.
So why on earth did I agree to judge this elementary-school literature contest when deep down I knew that I'd feel responsible for crushing the creative dreams of those poor children who don't receive first, second, third or honorable mention?
Now watch as I equate this literature contest to a dog show: In both situations, I feel like a cruel puppet master, because the dogs and the children think they're just having fun, but in reality they're being scrutinized. "Fluffy, I know you skipped the tunnel because you like the balance beam better, but that makes you dumb and YOU LOSE."
My solution to this moral dilemma is to put this off as long as possible. Because Noah refused to do it for me.