It’s been so cold out the past few days, we’ve made some attempts to keep a fire going.
It’s everything I love about the bleak cold– we get to wrap ourselves in warmth, inside the comfort of home.
When the boys went down for a nap, I started on the tiny remaining pieces of wood, hoping to get a little fire for myself, in the quiet.
I found an old phonebook in the recycling bin and used its pages to kindle a fire, praying Please, please catch. Names like Salon Chop it Up and Cash American Pawn, all consumed in a tiny blaze of glory.
Finally it caught for about 10 minutes before dying back down again.
But in that space, I watched brown turn to black, and I thought about Professor Bhaer from Little Women, the German man throwing scraps of old papers into his fireplace to keep the embers glowing.
It’s usually just a luxury for Americans today, a toasty fire to romance-up the place or make us feel cozy and warm.
We forget that fire once was– and still is for many all over the world– necessity.
It’s the only hope from the dangerous chill outside, the lone protection against the sting.
So, that fire did something necessary for my soul. It warmed me against the cold, and it reminded me of safety.
And so it is with the Father, who covers us with His hand, shelters us from the wreckage of ice and frost and bitterness.
So it is with the Father, who beckons us come to His hearth and rest.