There are no trophies for who gets the least amount of sleep. There are no medals for who's life is the hardest. There is no Hall of Fame for who ran themselves the most ragged in service of the unnecessary or perhaps just unworthy.
There is, however, joy in service. There is holiness and sanctification in gracefully enduring difficulties. There is happiness in giving up our own comforts for the benefit of someone else.
This is the paradox of sacrifice.
I once had a friend tell me (Hi Ben Marsh! I'm talking about you) that sacrifice is giving up something that you want for something that you want more. At first I absolutely hated the phrase, because it took all of the self-righteousness out of my sacrifice. What was sacrifice if I was actually getting what I wanted most?
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