Ember Me This

It's been cold in Kansas City for the last couple of days. Cold enough that the grass in my yard was covered with a thick layer of frost that crunched under Julie and Ollie's feet when I took them outside this morning. Cold enough that I turned up the heat a few degrees in my house when I got home from work last night. Cold enough that I could see my breath as I exhaled when Ollie and I were walking in the dark of the evening. Cold enough that the few hours I slept last night found me snuggled into my favorite flannel jammies. Cold enough that I broke out my winter coat, gloves and scarf for the walk from my car through the parking lot to the door of the building where I work. Cold enough that the people in my office were clamoring for me to build a fire in the fireplace before I even reached my desk. It hasn't been bitterly cold, mind you, but it has been cold enough ... cold enough ... it has been cold enough.

I used to love the winter, back when my small frame was covered with a hundred more pounds of insulation than it has now. I'm sure there were times back then when I would get cold, but it was never like the cold I feel now. When I get cold now, it almost feels as if someone has injected ice water into my veins. I often feel as though the coldness has taken up residence deep inside my bones, and it's almost impossible for me to get warm once I get cold. I can put on multiple layers of clothing, wrap myself in heated blankets, burrow in my bed with my dogs added into the mix of clothing and blankets, and still be cold. There's only one thing I've found that will warm me during those times when the cold I feel is so very, very, very cold, and that's taking a really long, really hot shower. The only thing is that if I don't layer up again the minute I step out of the steaming water, the bone-chilling cold returns in full force ... and more often than not, that cold ... the cold that returns ... is far deeper and much harder to rid myself of than its freezing predecessor.

I'm not sure how many fires I've built in various fireplaces down through the years ... at the least, I'm sure the number would be well into the hundreds. As is true in so many things in my life these days, it seems that some of the most profoundly important lessons I need to learn appear in the midst of an act or task I've performed countless times. Such was the case today ... such was the case today when I finally understood ... when I finally got it ... when I finally paid attention to the truth that had been right in front of my eyes for years and years and years. A truth that will challenge me in ways I've never been challenged before. A truth that will change me and cause me to become a better person. A truth that will charge its way into the crevices of my heart and soul and beckon me to remember that there is a plan and a purpose for every single season of my life.

Every now and again, one of my co-workers will toss a log onto the fire should it threaten to burn out. But as I've written about in previous posts, keeping the fire burning throughout the day is generally my job because everyone in our office knows that tending to the fire is something I truly love to do. For the most part, I keep the fire roaring, especially on really, really cold or snowy days. Sometimes, however, I get so busy that I forget to check on the fire and by the time I remember to make sure it's still burning, I find only slightly glowing embers surrounded by ashes rather than brightly colored flames leaping from a stack of wood. It was just after lunch when I walked to the fireplace that stands so regally at the end of a large open area on our main floor and saw only a few embers that held just a trace of orange. I walked behind the fireplace to the cubby where we keep the firewood and grabbed a couple of pieces and placed them on the metal grate on top of the few measly embers. 

"I'll just have to build another fire," I thought as I placed two more pieces of wood atop the others. "There's nothing left here to cause the fire to burn again  ... there's not enough fire left ... it's too close to being out ... it won't burn again ... it's too far gone to burn again." And almost as soon as the thought formed in my mind, I watched in amazement as the wood I had placed over the embers began to burn ... no, that's not correct ... I watched in amazement as the new wood began to blaze with flames that were even stronger and brighter than they had been when I first built the fire this morning. Tears filled my eyes as I stood gazing at the giant flames ... I stood in wonder looking at the fire I thought was gone ... the fire I thought had burned out ... the fire I thought could never be rekindled. I stood in wonder looking on as the fire that I thought was dead now burned with such ferocity and intensity, flames leaping higher and higher as the wood that fueled their existence popped and cracked and sizzled like firecrackers on the fourth of July.

The last few days have been difficult ones for me ... days filled with questions whose answers continue to elude me ... days filled with doubts that cause me to feel as though I have failed at what matters most ... days filled with issues I can no longer deny ... days filled with decisions I have no choice but to make ... days filled with a permeating cold that tediously and tirelessly worked to consume me. And as I stood in front of the popping, crackling, sizzling, flaming, burning wood today, I knew ... I knew ... I knew ... I knew my fire has almost burned out. I knew the events of the last couple of weeks have taken a toll on my heart and have exacted a great price from my soul. I knew that where once a blazing fire had roared, now only a few smoldering, barely glowing embers remained. As I watched the almost burned-out fire in the fireplace erupt with new life, I knew ... I knew ... I knew ... I knew what it meant ... I knew what God was telling me ... I knew what I must do.

To those of you who've written to me over the last several days and asked whether I plan to continue writing this blog, I want to give you the most honest answer I can. That's one of the tough decisions I've been wrestling with this week ... and that's one of the decisions I've actually been able to make. I know there are those who disagree with what I write from time to time (or most of the time), but I also know that I can't not write from my heart. That's where the decision part comes in ... do I write from a place of believing that my words may help others who can relate to both my joys and my struggles? Or do I not write from a place of fearing that my words may cause hurt or pain to those who have differing views? For now, I feel that I must continue writing ... I feel that I am called to continue writing. I feel that to do anything less would be cowardice in its truest form, and even more, it would be running away from what I know deep in my heart I am meant to do.

Sorry for the length of tonight's post, but ember me this ... my fire is trying desperately to get rekindled ... my fire is trying its best to embrace the glow of the embers that remain ... my fire is trying with all its might to erupt with new life and burn brightly once again. Ember me this, friends ... ember me this.