If our eyes hurt, is it because the beam in our own eyes bothers us as we focus our attention on the mote in our friend’s eye?
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Over coffee in a cozy restaurant, my friend Margie was talking about an acquaintance. “All she ever does is complain about her physical condition,” she said. “If not her allergies, her bad back. If not her back, her heavy periods. She’d probably feel better If she didn’t discuss them so much.” I agreed, and we continued our conversation, which consisted, you guessed it, primarily of Margie’s analysis of the current state of her own health.
Yesterday I couldn’t find the three bratwurst I’d stored in the freezer for a quick weekday dinner. I took every single bag of veggies, chicken breast, ice cube tray, and ice cream container out and rummaged thoroughly. No brats. The mysterious petty thief must have returned. We began getting visits from this specter when my son in elementary school galumphed through the house demanding, “Where’s my ruler?” and “I can’t find my quarter. Who took it?” I’d tell him a very clever thief who specialized in sneaking into our house entered during the wee hours of the morning to take his belongings. Inevitably one us would find the missing item, and we realized the thief had re-entered to return my son’s things.
I recently read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky. This tale, set in the early 90s, carries overtones of The Catcher in the Rye and other coming-of-age novels, climbed the best seller lists, spawned a decent film, and spurred controversy. After I finished it, I wondered if it would wind up on the list of most-challenged books (a challenge is an attempt to remove or restrict written materials), and sure enough, it did.
