Sometimes I think I'd make a great dictator. Well, a just dictator, but still a dictator. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I could rule with an iron fist.

Let me explain: I'm a person who's very concerned with justice. And that's not a bad thing. I hate when people take advantage of others weaker than themselves, and think that great character consists of being fair, right and consistant.

However, great character also consists of being compassionate. And that's where I get tripped up.

Here's how I see it:

Imagine that you're at Niagra Falls. You're at the top of the falls, looking out over the rushing waters as they plummit over the cliff. Suddenly, you see some poor person in the water, heading towards the falls. You hop the fence, jump in, and somehow manage to pull them up out of the water and save them. That's compassion. Its a very good thing.

Then, though, you look back over at the falls and see another person rushing towards their death. You jump in and save them. You do it again and again. Eventually, you're going to have to need to go up the bank and find out who's pushing people into the water and stop them. That's justice. Its also a very good thing.

There are a lot of people who tend to err towars the side of compasison, and just keep saving poeple without stopping what's hurting them. In the long run, you're really not solving the problem. In fact, you're making it easier for the villian, because you're cleaning up his mess for him.

I tend to err on the side of justice. If I saw someone floating by, I'd probably leave them and just bum-rush the guy pushing poeple in. In the long run, you may be solving the problem, buy you're not caring for those that are hurt in the process. The best place to be is somewhere in the middle.

God is perfect - He is both righteously just and immeasureable compassionate.

Today, I have a test on how compssionate I can be. I lovingly brought a Starbucks Frappiccino into work today, to be enjoyed after lunch when I tend to get sleepy. It was the kind you get at a grocery store, the kind in the bottle. A sealed, little mocha mint delight, an island of sanity and goodness in a dark and scary world.

I had to run to the post office to mail out our annual Thanksgiving newsletter. Right before that, I had made sure that my coffee was safe and sound in the kitchen fridge. But when I came back, it was gone.

I searched high and low for my coffee, but to no avail. Someone had taken it!

People go into our kitchen a lot. We work at a food shelf, which also runs a Meals on Wheels program, and houses a women's shelter at night where meals are served. So, there's always plenty of food around. However, Starbucks is NOT one of our regular donors. Odds are that someone knew that it was probably someone's, and drank it anyway.

Now, I feel that if someone messes with your coffee, they must have some sort of death wish, so its ok to kill them. I mean, it was my coffee! Anyone with me on that? Anyone?

I have a justifiable right to hate them forever. Unless you take into account that I've been forgiven much more than that, and I'd be wicked and ungrateful to not forgive my fellow man. In fact, I should go buy them another one. Out of love, I should turn the other cheek.

So I will. But, I still think it would be in their best interests to inform them (lovingly) that you're not supposed to just take whatever you want from the fridge.

There you go: justice and compassion. So hopefully, I won't turn into Stalin someday (though I hear he was neither just or compassionate)