Getting To The North Pole

... is tough sledding.

Ha ha ha! Ha ha! Ha.

Sorry about that.

I've had a metaphorical model of our attempts to live a holy life in my head for years, so I thought I'd share it today. Imagine that sainthood is the North Pole. You are somewhere a good deal south of it. Life is a struggle to slowly head north as best you can. Everyone around you in real life should be trying to do the same thing, but they are at distinctly different spots on the metaphorical globe. Your location is all based on your particular weaknesses and how well you're fighting them.

For example, my recurring issues involve brewskis, sloth and anger. Let's say I'm in Mobile, Alabama. Yours might be infidelity, greed and selfishness. You're in Riyadh. When I meet you and note your sins, should I mentally sneer at you? After all, I may have one too many beers once in a while, but you're involved in an affair! You swine! I am so superior!

Err, no. It's just that you're in Riyadh and I'm in Mobile. We're both a long, long way from the North Pole. Our job is to help each other muddle north. Given how far each of us has to go, neither of us can very well look down on the other. We've got a big job ahead of us and it's a waste of time squinting our eyes at each other to determine which of us is closer to the pole.

Anyway, there's my analogy. Not sure if it made sense in prose, but it makes sense to me. Which is why I'm better than you. (Editor's note: STOP THAT!)

My path. I'm not going to get to the North Pole, of course, all I can do is try to get close.

Your path. On the plus side, when you get there, you can have a plateful of delicious herring!