As I got up this morning, the cold air from our dark house wrapped its uncomfortable arms around me. I reached for my fuzzy pink robe, draped it around myself and shuffled down the hall. The wood stove had only a small orange glow peeking through the glass panes and I knew the fire had long ago dwindled to only a few remaining embers.
I turned the handle, unlocking the cast iron doors, hoping the screech would not wake the rest of the family.
Darkness stared at me with miniature orange coals blinking, trying to come back to life. I took the poker and shoved all of the coals into one pile, hoping the combined heat would cause a spark once I layered wood on top.
I shoved my feet into my husband’s boots and dragged out into the frigid early morning air. Once back inside, I knelt before the wood stove and began stacking wood on the embers one by one. Each piece of wood had snow on it from the day before, so it would sizzle as the heat touched it. With the wood finally stacked, steam escaped from the dampness. I watched wondering if a fire would ever start.
For an hour I left the doors open a crack allowing the air to vacuum in to the coals, urging them to spark. I knew the dampness would have to dry before a fire would start.
Sometimes, the fire takes quite a bit of nurturing and tending. I checked on it several times, re-positioning the wood, poking at it, and changing the air flow.
Just when I decided nothing was going to happen, I heard a rushing sound coming from the stove.
Not just a few flickering flames, but a roaring hot fire.
Jeremiah 20:9 (AMP)
If I say, I will not make mention of [the Lord] or speak any more in His name, in my mind and heart it is as if there were a burning fire shut up in my bones. And I am weary of enduring and holding it in; I cannot [contain it any longer].
A couple of years ago, as many of you know, I found myself in a very cold dark place. My “fire” had gone out. The real me barely had a glow left. I could hear God’s voice, but it was distant. It was like I had pounds of worry and stress and anxiety heaped on top of me, threatening to smother out what little life was left.
I prayed and cried out to God.
It seemed nothing helped. But, I didn’t give up. I opened my heart wider to the Lord.
After quite some time, I began to feel it. A stirring. Something smoldering within me. A spark. God had connected with me. I felt Him. His love blew into my life igniting a flame of passion for Him that had long been gone.
Suddenly it exploded into new love for Him, new opportunities, and healing for my mind.
I cannot contain it.
I want to share it.
My heart’s desire is to see others who are hurting set free and healed in Jesus’ name. There is a fire in you. Tend to it. Allow God to breathe into you. Open the doors of your heart to Him.