When the fire comes (let it)
The call came in late one evening. Who would be calling at this hour? Busy getting ready for bed, I heard The Mister pick up. And I heard his tone turn grave.
It was his brother.
Later, he told me the story. How the crew, they’d been working. How a spark had caught and kindled. How the flames, they’d roared to life. How the shop, it all crashed down. Burnt, leveled. How the loss, it was complete.
The fire had come on an ordinary day. Blazed right up beneath a blue autumn sky. The flames, licking orange, had devoured like a ravenous beast, reducing wood, hay, and stubble to ash.
There’d been no warning of an inferno that crisp fall day. No signs to say, “Look out,” or, “Heads up.” Just the normal rhythm of life and duties and work and kids. And then a spark.
Today, I’m thinking of fire. How on an ordinary day beneath clear, blue skies, it can come. No sign. No warning. Just the rhythm of life and duties and work and kids. Then a spark with an inferno raging, ravenous, reducing right down to rubble and ash.
The sparks, they can be anything. An awful diagnosis. A business collapse. An accident. A wayward kid. Then suddenly a blaze that can’t be put out. And it burns and burns and burns.
Here’s what I’ve learned about the fire of trials. This fire, it will burn, consuming wood, hay and stubble. Let it.
The fire, it will hurt, burning up all that’s unsound and all that’s unhealthy. Let it.
The flames, they’ll blaze high, right out of control. Let them.
The furnace, it’s big and you’ll feel all alone. You’re not.
If you let it, the fire of trial will cleanse you, burning the dross right up. You will be far stronger than you ever thought possible. If you let it, it will purify you, and you will shine far brighter than you ever imagined.
If you let it, it will drive you straight to Jesus, and you’ll learn to love Him more than you ever have before. And if you let it, the flames will level you down to the foundation. Then – oh, glorious then – the rebuilding will begin.
Let it come. Let it purge. Let it strengthen. And let Him rebuild.
Warmly,
Rhonda
So happy to report that only “stuff” was lost. No family members; no nieces or nephews; no people we love. We give thanks.