I See Paul

I’m not entirely sure the first time I realized I was comparing myself against the apostle Paul, but I have been. Driving home from work today, weary from the drama which comes as a side effect of working in a residential home for young women, I was comparing myself to Paul. 

I was tired. My legs were slightly sore and my eyes heavy from not getting enough sleep the night before. A few girls had asked for prayer before bed and I had had coffee far too close to dinner time. Tears were shed during the day; mine and theirs and yet instead of processing what had happened, I was thinking about Paul. Would Paul be tired right now? Would he have cried? 

In my mind, I see him stretched out with his back against a cold stone wall, body bloodied by the guards watching his cell. Sorry, not a pretty picture, but the picture I see nonetheless. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this dance, comparing my suffering to others but I’ve been doing it. I also think of Paul when I’m stuck in sticky situations. Like when the wifi isn’t working and I can’t numb out on a movie at night. Or when my budget’s a little tighter than normal and God is asking me to give away the next penny. Well Paul wrote books that live on in infamy when he was in a sticky situation (aka prison). The thoughts roll and roll until finally I beat myself into a mental stupor.

What’s funny about this whole game I play with myself is I always lose. I either end up pushing myself past the breaking point and find myself in tears over cheerios the next morning or collapse in defeat before the breakdown, beating myself up for needing a break. 

I think the reason God gives people visions is because they’re so stinking memorable. I feel tired from work, I see Paul. I don’t wanna make the most of my spare hour, I just wanna lay on my couch and scroll through instagram, I see Paul. The visualization is powerful. 

But God isn’t looking at me expecting me to be Paul. Paul himself says you have to feed the infant milk, not food. In my tired slumber, I feel far more like an infant than a child, so why am I trying to eat the filet mignons of suffering?

 No hate towards Paul but sometimes I need a beat. God didn’t ask me to be Paul. He asked me to be Ann Catherine. Like Paul I can rejoice in my own sufferings, but not minimize them down trying to call them something else. Thanks Paul.