There's something mesmerizing about a fire that it winks at four out of the five senses. I used to be in Boy Scouts so I know how to build a proper fire. And I'm pretty good at it I think. I haven't burned down our house or set the endless woods of crunchy leaves on fire...yet.
Me, my daughter Chloe and son Caleb were outside the other day and started a fire in the awesome ring of concrete cinder blocks I had stacked 3 tiers high. Part of me wanted Splinter from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to appear and tell us to go rescue him from the evil Footclan, but he didn't.
The fire happened for two reasons. I was home with both kids because our daycare lady had her baby and dealing with two kids for eight hours is like Jumanji and the hours are intensified to the power of 23. The second reason for the fire was that I was raking leaves and burning them. Shh. Don't tell the HOA. Ah, who am I kidding? My HOA is run by a bunch of Rednecks who take old toilet fixtures and make them into grills.
But as I was putting leaves in, the flame looked non existent and seemed to be hiding. My daughter noticed the lack of curling fire and said, "Daddy, your fire broke."
It was one of those moments where I think God was speaking audibly through someone else. I thought about what she said for about three seconds. My fire is broke. Because of my thoughts. Because of my laziness. Because my apathy. And mostly because me doubting my salvation for the past two years. I long for God, but then that is quickly whisked away by some cynicism I have toward something in the Church or because I hear the same cookie cutter bible answers that worked when I was five, but at 29 doesn't work.
I'm not really sure how to fix a broken fire. Maybe I just need to add more leaves. Or maybe I just need to look at Caleb and be reminded of a man earlier in life who was confident and loyal to God.