The Spiritual Firefighter

I really like fire. It's so pretty and enchanting. The sound of it and the way the flames jump and duck and reflect and shimmer mesmerizes me. (How does that even happen with the colors all changing? Science people hit me up.) And when a new log is tossed onto the pile and sparks erupt into the sky? Incredible. Fires remind me of all those night my family and I went camping together, watching the stars and talking about all the random topics my brother and I could think up. Fires are very nostalgic for me. I have a lot of weird fire stories, too. Maybe I'll tell you about them one day. But not right now.

See as much as I love fires, they are weapons of destruction. I may be an 18 year old girl, but when it comes to fire I am a 12 year old boy with a magnifying glass on a summer day. You best believe that leaves, ants, food, and even my own skin will be forced under the amplified rays of the sun on the off chance I can light something on fire. Sorry Mom.

So despite the awesomeness of fires, you best believe they are also real dangerous. And as me and a couple of girls talked about forgiveness tonight (drawing from Colossians 3:1-17) God reminded me of the danger of fires.

You know when you toss a marshmallow into the fire and it swells and blackens and then collapses into itself in a disturbingly fascinating way? I used to look at those blackened lumps and call them Jabba the Hut. But tonight God pointed out that those blackened lumps go by another name for me, and that's relationships.

What the heck. Where am I going with this? Somewhere I hope.

I had a blackened lump of a relationship for a really long time. A lot longer than I'd care to admit. I tossed my relationship into the fire pit and watched as flames of anger, resentment, bitterness, and spite poisoned it. Self-righteousness and pride charred a once beautiful (and delicious) marshmallow of relationship until there was nothing left. (Almost. Thank you Lord that your redemption is greater than me and my sin.)

The longer that marshmallow relationship lay in the fire, the more burnt and deformed it became. God pulled at my heart and I rejected Him until a once good gift became utterly unrecognizable. Forgiveness could have quenched my fire, the one that ate away and poisoned my life. But I didn't want it to. I didn't want the fire to go out, even though I could feel it spreading, leaping from the pit to ignite all my relationships and singe my own skin.

And God uses that burning to show me my sin and my Savior.

So when I'm mad here's brief and worrisome glimpse at might thoughts: Fire is my anger. It's my RIGHT. My bitterness. My "righteous indignation" when people have wronged me. My justification for my own wrongs. Fire is my impassioned rage that let's me lash out with all the words that I swallow when I am hurt.

And forgiveness? Forgiveness is... meekness. It's quietness. It's letting go-ness. It's softness and understanding and admitting that I AM A SINNER. So how can I be mad? I am the same.

I don't love that lesson, God.

So as the fires of my life burn on, God keeps shoving forgiveness into my life. And that forgiveness is a powerful water hose that blasts away my "right" to anger and cleans me up leaving only the ashes of my old life soggy and disgusting and a reminder of my disobedience and pride. But as I dig through those ashes you know what I found? All those marshmallow relationships that I tried to destroy.

But God didn't let me. Nope.

And so after my rage has been squashed, as I get up off my knees and begin sorting through the charred mess that I have made, I find the beauty of God's grace. He gives me those relationships. He restores them. And all the havoc I tried to wreak? He restores that too. Because the really amazing thing about God is that He doesn't leave us in the wreckage we have created. Ever.

Can I say that again? I need to.

God doesn't leave us in the mess we have made.

God is a God of redemption. And He's redeeming me. He's redeeming the relationships that I have broken. He's redeeming my anger and transforming me. But first, that fire that I let burn on for way to long? That has got to be put out. Redemption comes through God's forgiveness for me. And if I can't forgive can I really say I have experienced God's forgiveness? No. Not really. And the longer I put it off, the harder it is to do it at all. Like homework.

As amazing as fire is, it hurts a lot. Sure Molotov cocktails are super fun looking, but they're probably not worth losing a hand for. So God's teaching me to put away my lighters and gasoline and let forgiveness fall like rain in October on the East Coast. He forgave me in ways I will never, EVER be able to comprehend, and now He calls me to do the same.