The woman had just reminded her daughters that the tooth fairy pays $5 for a tooth without a cavity and $2 for a tooth with a cavity when the conversation moved on to the topic of character.

I was behind her in line at the ice cream shop, waiting to place an order that would hopefully satisfy my sudden chocolate craving. Her detailed instructions for the making of their sundaes had sent the counter person back again for nuts and strawberry sauce but I didn’t mind the wait. I was watching her older daughter practice cheerleading moves and pondering the revelation that the tooth fairy’s rates had gone up considerably in the past ten years.

Then the younger girl announced, “Sarah’s babysitter smokes in the car while she drives.”

“Oh, really,” the mother said, her eyes narrowing. “I knew there was something wrong with that babysitter the first time I met her.”

“Why?” asked the older daughter, pausing in mid-clap.

“Oh please,” the mother said. “She’s 20-years old with a 5-year old daughter? That tells you what kind of person she is.”

Now my eyes narrowed. No, I thought. That comment tells us what kind of person you are.

I bit my tongue to keep the words from spilling out. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to call the woman a snob in front of her daughters.

“Does that mean she was ...?” The older girl was clearly doing the math in her head.

“Fifteen when she had a baby,” the mother said, not even trying to hide the disgust in her voice.

Their ice cream arrived and the conversation ended, but as they headed to their car the mother’s words stayed with me. I didn’t even know this 20-year old babysitter with the 5-year old daughter, but I had immediate compassion for a young woman who at the tender age of 15 took on the lifelong responsibility of parenting. The fact that she smoked simply said she had some bad habits. Who was I to judge that? I had snuck out of the house at 9 PM to get a hot fudge sundae. Smoke, sugar. We all crave something.

I went home and curled up on the couch to watch TV and enjoy my ice cream, but I was still replaying the conversation in my head and wishing that I had pointed out the judgmental attitude the woman was passing on to her kids.

Then, as I scraped the last bit of fudge from the dish, I heard God whisper in my ear, Thank you for your compassion for the woman at the well. But don’t forget that I also commanded you to love your enemies.

I hate when God does that. Just when I’m patting myself in the back for pointing out the speck in someone else’s eye he reminds me of the plank in my own.

Suddenly, I was glad I had kept my mouth shut, realizing that it’s easier to eat words you haven’t spoken. But they do make the hot fudge taste a little bitter.

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