Fires

May 18, 2018

Embers are all that remain of the fire that crackled so brightly a couple hours before, and before morning, even they will have sizzled out, cooled by the rain that will arrive sometime overnight. It’s a Meema/Beepa night; at least that’s what the grandkids call it. As they get older, they drift in one or two at a time, some for supper, others not till later. The Andersens had to go home so they could get up early together for a family outing tomorrow, but the rest are camped throughout the house, bedded down for the night.

Earlier, Nathan and Ian managed to play two-man kickball. I’m not sure what the rules were, but whatever they were, they didn’t fight over them. Once the fire died down some, we toasted marshmallows and made S’mores. The Bailey girls arrived late, due to a ball game, so I missed my evening coffee waiting for Abi. After a day of Writer’s Group, weedwhacking, sermonizing, and painting the stove, it was good to relax a bit. 

And the fire slowly died, a reminder of my own mortality. The flame isn’t as bright as it once was, and the day will come when the last ember blinks and goes out. We don’t know when that will be. This morning, kids in Texas boarded the buses for school, imagining that it would be just another ordinary day waiting for summer vacation to start. For nine of them, it was the last morning they would see. And in Cuba, nine pastors and their spouses boarded a plane from Havana to Holguin after a spiritual retreat. Their minds were on the experiences they had had and the sermons and ministry to come, but unbeknownst to them, they had already preached their last sermon.

Our grandkids are bright and strong like that early evening campfire, while Linda and I are more like the glowing embers. None of us know when the rains will come or how long the fire will last, but as long as it burns, I want my flame to light this world with the Word of Christ, proclaiming deliverance to the captive, sight for the blind, and life to all who believe.