The Martyrdom of Me
Today I realized something about myself. I don't mind suffering! Physical distress, poverty, pain: none of these bother me at all, as long as I'm not inconvenienced or uncomfortable.
I've read gripping works about Christians in horrid circumstances. St. Therese on her deathbed, Ignatius of Antioch on his way to martyrdom, John of the Cross imprisoned, Immaculee Ilibagiza huddled in a bathroom. I usually read these things at night, under soft blankets in my cozy house. From my comfort zone, I am inspired and challenged and ready to endure anything for God.
And then I wonder if someone might have misunderstood something I wrote about prayer. Or if I might be getting a headache. Or maybe I'm asked to go a teeeeeny bit out of my way to help someone else. Alas and alack. Such things can feel like the very martyrdom of me.
back of hand to forehead; long sigh........ (continue at The Breadbox Letters)