Ants

I'm having one of those weeks where I feel like I'm watching myself from afar and I can see every single little thing that I do wrong. I feel like every one of my actions is under deep scrutinization by someone with a giant magnifying class. I feel like an ant. I feel there's a beam of white hot light following me everywhere and that I'm cringing in front of it like a kid that know's she's about to get spanked. You know how kids will sort of arch their backs, shoulders up and go "imsorryimsorryimsorryIMSORRYIMSORRY..." That's what I feel like. Except for I'm the ant and the kid with the magnifying glass at the same time. I don't know how that works, but whatever.

Other people don't see these personality flaws that I do because they're deep and usually I come across as a "good person." I hate that phrase. But anyways, I feel like the longer I'm a Christian, the more Christlike I become, but at the same time, the more I notice how deep my sinful nature actually is. It's sort of a paradox. I'm getting better but at the same time I'm seeing how much farther I have to go before being "perfect." It's like I'm walking up this mountain and as I walk up I can more accurately see how high it is. When I started I didn't think I was that far away because the mountain looked small in the distance. Now that I'm on it and walking up, I'm making progress but I realize now that I'll never get there. But I keep going. What am I, insane?

There are also these onlooker ants. And to them, I'm getting higher and higher up the hill and they see me as being so far up the hill I don't have to go any farther. They'd think I was nuts if I told them I have farther to go. They are so far away that, to them, it looks like I'm at the top already. Isn't that weird? But the hill is still so high up.

Then there's God. There's always God, and that get's complicated to throw Him in the mix. He likes that I'm still climbing up the hill and he tells me to keep climing up the hill, because He's at the top, but He's also walking with me up the hill and I couldn't walk up the hill or even be ON the hill if He didn't let me, but every time that magnifying glass starts to singe the hairs off my .. He's like, put the magnifying glass away and I'm like, I can't get up the hill without it because if I don't have it then I don't know which way's up and He's like you're already at the top of the hill and I'm like what the heck are you talking about, don't you see how much farther up there is and He's like yeah I do, it's pretty far, and I'm like but you said I'm at the top and He's like, you are and then I'm like which one is it Troy, then Troy... I mean, the pastor ant, is like "yes" and I'm like AHHHHHH.
Then my old roomate ant is like "Grace!" and I'm like "shut up! Kel.. I mean you stinky ant!" (not that the ant stinks, she smells quite nice, it's just a metaphor) and then I'm left crispy and tired on the mountain looking down and not seeing that much distance and looking up and seeing no end and looking around and seeing other ants that see the distances differently and they look to me like they're all above or below me on the mountain but the Big Ant says that we're all in the same place.

*gasping for air*

Being an ant is complicated.