Loaves, Fishes, and Perpetual Milk
Let's face it. Most people really aren't happy unless they have something to be unhappy about. When they find themselves in priviliged circumstances and in good health, the object of dissatisfaction is almost always insignificant.
Otherwise normal individuals sever ties with family members over perceived slights without ever confronting the object of their emnity; they fly into a rage over a presumably stolen pencil. It's pettiness, plain and simple. We all want to have reason to rage against this cruel, cruel world. Sure, villagers may be starving in the Sudan, but then again, my sister wore my sweater without asking first...
Last year, a co-worker became so irate over the fact that someone drank his milk from the staff refrigerator that he sent out several nasty emails to everyone on staff. All humanity was implicated in this injustice perpetuated upon him, and all of us deserved a communal email-lashing for our sins.
I hadn't done anything wrong, but I felt guilty. Could my lack of due diligence have led to this? Was my moral laxity to blame? Aren't I my brother's keeper?
How could I make things right and thereby restore balance to the universe? My response was simple: I secretly added a little bit of milk to his container every week, so that the milk carton was perpetually half-full.
There were no angry recriminations. I can only assume that my colleague concluded that the Good Lord was settin' things straight loaves n' fishes style.
Otherwise normal individuals sever ties with family members over perceived slights without ever confronting the object of their emnity; they fly into a rage over a presumably stolen pencil. It's pettiness, plain and simple. We all want to have reason to rage against this cruel, cruel world. Sure, villagers may be starving in the Sudan, but then again, my sister wore my sweater without asking first...
Last year, a co-worker became so irate over the fact that someone drank his milk from the staff refrigerator that he sent out several nasty emails to everyone on staff. All humanity was implicated in this injustice perpetuated upon him, and all of us deserved a communal email-lashing for our sins.
I hadn't done anything wrong, but I felt guilty. Could my lack of due diligence have led to this? Was my moral laxity to blame? Aren't I my brother's keeper?
How could I make things right and thereby restore balance to the universe? My response was simple: I secretly added a little bit of milk to his container every week, so that the milk carton was perpetually half-full.
There were no angry recriminations. I can only assume that my colleague concluded that the Good Lord was settin' things straight loaves n' fishes style.
