|Posted by Donna Dawson on January 3, 2014 at 8:05 AM|
The thermometer plunges to a crispy minus 20 and I huddle into my winter gear. Even the dog has more common sense and watches from the kitchen window, offering a panting laugh. But the fires must be fed. So I gather the wood. I think about fire and its properties as I clip small twigs from felled branches. They will be kindling--the first sup that gives life to the flame. I ponder. How can something which consumes so violently and completely be of such value--a necessity of life.
Snip. Snip. I clip more twigs. Christmas has just passed and my mind reaches for the parallel. How could such a tiny baby become the flaming torch to light humanity. I stand there, a fist full of future fire. Did Mary look upon her infant and think about the future fire?
The bin fills and again my mind journeys. We are like those twigs--we who walk in the footsteps of the child of Bethlehem. If we are willing to be consumed by the flame, we become the catalyst for a mighty raging fire.
There are those who say they love the fire but do nothing to keep it kindled. They talk about the fire and live as though the fire is the source of light but they don't lift a finger to aid in its growth. There are those who have rejected the fire believing it doesn't exist and are surprised when it sweeps over them. There are those who know the fire--know its warmth and comfort--know its power and supremacy. They will feed the fire and share it with others.
That baby--that God-child--Yeshua--Jesus--was a single light on a dark night--a brief flicker of spark against a small group of souls hungry for hope's kindling. He grew because he was fed from the Source--because he was the Source--and spread across the nations, lighting the darkness of all souls willing to draw near.
Will you kindle and keep the fire burning? Will I? It's a choice.