Stoking the Fire
Stoking the Fire
Wood crackling.
Logs shift and throw sparks into the night.
Smoke matches you step for step.
The warmth on your face is comforting.
The flames begin to shrink.
The warmth fades.
You stir the coals.
Toss on another stick.
The flames find new life.
Nobody likes leaving a fire before it's burned down.
Now it's gotten late.
Your alarm isn't going to care how much sleep you missed.
But somehow, walking away when there are still coals glowing feels wrong.
You stir the coals.
Toss on another stick.
Watch the flames climb back into the night.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that campfires aren't the only things we have to keep feeding...
Sitting here watching the fire, I didn't think twice about grabbing another stick.
It wasn't a chore.
Nobody had to tell me to do it.
But I did.
I didn't want the fire to burn out.
So why do we expect the fires in our own lives to keep burning if we stop feeding them?
Friendships don't stay strong on their own.
Neither do relationships.
Not our faith.
Not our health.
Even our passions burn out if we stop tending to them.
Makes a lot more sense when sitting around a campfire, don't it?
I've caught myself assuming that the fire will keep burning strong even if I stop tending to it.
Sometimes it does.
Sometimes it doesn't.
Maybe that's the point.
Fires don't care about your good intentions.
Midnight has crept up on me.
The woods are quiet.
The last stick falls and settles into the coals.
The fire breathes once again.