The Fire

I thought myself so selfless:
I cared about everyone. I was always willing to listen,
And never held myself back from those that I could help.
But now there is no break, no words of thanks.
Selflessness is both expected and demanded by the little ones I ceaselessly care for.
I realize now just how much I kept for myself,
How much of my giving was really to benefit myself.
I did not know how selfish I was.

I thought myself so patient:
I was imperturbable. No matter what happened,
I responded with grace and fortitude.
But now completing the simplest tasks takes ten times longer than it should.
Little feet stop to smell the roses, even when there are no roses.
I realize now that I was only patient when it was convenient for me,
That hurry is branded on my heart.
I did not know how impatient I was.

I thought myself so humble:
I was content to do my best, even in unseen ways.
I did not need the praise my actions and accomplishments so often received.
But now most of what I do goes unnoticed. My days are filled with the unremarkable,
And the reward of success is merely doing it again the next day.
I realize now how much I find my value in what I do,
That I desperately need approval.
I did not know how proud I was.

Tell me, what purpose has this furnace?
Some twisted penance a thousand times over for every time I considered myself such a good person?
Can I return to my old, comfortable ignorance of my own condition?

Or, perhaps, by God's grace, could this lump of coal one day become a diamond?