Firepit

Okay, I am going on a posting frenzy!

This weekend, on our camping trip at Caples Lake, we were camping in the only dry patch of ground we could find. Turns out we were fifteen feet from the mostly frozen lake and fifteen feet from the nearest snow bank, sleeping on soft sand and among boulders of sheeting granite.

>>On a side note, the lake was about 70% frozen over. I threw a rock about 3/4 the size of my fist on to one floe and the rock bounced and landed, without breaking through the ice! In California in May, that is crazy!
>>Another side note: I didn't sleep from 3-5:30 am because I was too cold. During that time, I tried to pull in the hood of my sleeping back in to help protect the warmth quickly leaving my elbow, but I couldn't because there was frost on the hood, and when I told the early bird in the morning, she said there was frost on the tops of all our bags! It was cold, believe me.

However, besides how cold it got in the middle of the night, we needed a fire to cook our food. Luckily we were some of the first to be there from winter so there was plenty of dry driftwood, and after overcoming the Zippo that refused to light we had a nice roaring fire. Except for the wind. And the smoke. The whole night, it seemed, we were constantly running from one side of the fire to the other, fleeing the smoke yet seeking the warmth and light. After we had eaten dinner and were settled down for a nice quiet evening, the wind decided it was ready to be still as well. As we beheld the glory of the stars and juggled lazy conversation about the glory of the Creator of the stars, one member of our group made the comment, "The fire is just embers now. Ah, no smoke!" I looked down and noticed the glowing red coals, realized my legs were hot and my eyes were clear, and said, "There's a sermon analogy in that."

I remember back to the flamboyant and passionate fire, which raced from side to side, throwing as much heat and light as it could where ever the wind would allow it. No amount of wood was ever enough, it gobbled it down quickly, and it took a while before there was a good base of coals. And there was so much smoke! It was awful, getting into everyone's eyes, coupled with the wind it never could be predictable or reliant. And the embers, in stark contrast, had a solid bed of searing heat, evenly emanating from the core and felt by everyone present. There was no smoke, no wind. Nor was there a need to frantically throw as much fuel on as possible, because there was no worry of its dying out, and it was predictable in its heat emission.

Like the early fire, young Christians are often passionate, hurried, and in need of much fuel. Others must quickly load as much on as possible to fuel the flames that lick where ever there is opportunity, but there is so much smoke. So many impurities which cannot be turned into warmth-giving flame, and must simply be burned away. Yet often many people get stung in the eyes because of this, and they curse the fire for its burning. Others are grateful for the warmth in whatever condition. But as that fire grows, it builds a firm foundation of coals from the mounds of fuel given by those in the beginning and throughout. Slowly the wind dies down and so do the frantic flames, and there is a solid, red hot pile of wisdom and experience, ready to be a consistent and constant guide to others who are just being lit.

Just thought it was cool. :)

>>The question is begs, then, is this: If embers are predictable but less bright that young flames, which is better? On the one hand, an open flame can be seen from farther away and attract those out in the cold, but a pile of embers is longer-lasting, hotter, better for cooking, but only known and felt by those closer.
Also, taking the analogy WAY past its scope: what about bonfires? That's revival, baby! But what happens when it gets out of control and burns the forest, hurting many and leaving a charred hillside? How do we create a Christianity in our lives that is contagious, consistent, and in control?