There was dog poop (not belonging to my dog) in my driveway the other day and my first reaction was disgust, followed closely by anger. But, thanks to all the stories I've read of super-suffering and humble saints, I quickly saw the poop as an opportunity! Service! Humility!
I will clean up this poop with a bright heart and a shiny-happy countenance and I will whistle a tune. Just like St. Faustina in her diary, I will say, "Help me, O Lord, that my hands may be merciful and filled with good deeds, so that I may do only good to my neighbors and take upon myself the more difficult and toilsome tasks."
But then I got a bunch of the poop smeared on my hand and under my fingernails and the efforts toward humility were drained from my soul and I stomped around muttering various threats and cuss words just under my breath.
St. Faustina asked God to fill her hands with good deeds. Mine were filled with dog poop. I suppose when I can more clearly see how these can be the same thing, I will be one step closer to sainthood. One giant step.