I woke up early in the morning, well before the sun rising timidly over the mountains turned the deep black of the mountain woods into gray outlines and shadows. I couldn't see beyond the windows next to where I was sleeping. But I could feel what was on the other side of the glass.
The cold that had been kept at bay by the slowly burning fire in the stove had found its way into the cabin.
I pulled the blankets tighter around me. It wasn't freezing quite yet. I could still sense the residual warmth left behind by the fire. But the edges of the air dripped with a frostiness I knew from experience would spread.
I was worried that the chill might eventually reach my kids in the beds where they slept if I didn't remedy the situation. So I untangled myself from the covers and braved the few feet of frigid floor between me and the fireplace.
As I opened the heavy glass door, I quickly saw what I had suspected was true.
Just before we went to bed, my cousin's husband had thrown a few extra logs onto the steady blaze, assuring us it would last until morning.
But it had burned out.
All of it.
There wasn't even a smoldering ember I could use to rekindle anything that would generate the warmth I knew we would need.
I had confidence in my ability to start a fire. I had done in dozens and dozens of times. I grew up camping in the Utah mountains. I had attended and completed 4 years of wilderness camp as a teen. I had started many a bonfire when we lived in rural Ohio and wanted s'mores in the summer. Certainly I could do it again.
I arranged a few larger logs in the bottom of the stove, sprinkled with a few smaller pieces of wood. Then I grabbed a few newspapers. I needed something that would burn fast and easy...and hopefully long enough to allow the other smaller pieces to become hot enough to ignite.
The theory was that each of the smaller, faster burning pieces would eventually cause the larger pieces to burn and create the warm sustainable flame I desired.
I believed my logic was sound.
But somehow, the plan simply did not work.
I tried for an hour to get the fire to light. I even resorted to a few tactics I actually knew wouldn't work but hoped the fire gods would make an exception in my case; I held the lighter to the big log, hoping by some chance it would catch if I held it there long enough, I scurried outside in the frozen dawn to gather smaller pieces of kindling that could burn longer and hotter than the newspapers I had quickly run out of...thinking that the frosted twigs I dug out of the piles of pine needles and cottonwood leaves would miraculously burn and ignite the fire we needed.
The cold was creeping more and more into the heart of the cabin.
I gently nursed each ember produced by my efforts, prodding it with every ounce of knowledge I possessed to become a mighty blaze.
I knew it could.
If it would just try a little harder.
I hovered.
I pleaded.
And I was frustrated.
My efforts went on despite my failure. Somehow, in the midst of those moments, the spirit took an opportunity to point something out to me. Something that had escaped me before.
Like so many things in our lives that we desire longevity from (like knowledge we seek of God or other worthy concepts..or the love that generates real relationships), the creation of a flame is a process. The sustaining of it takes mindfulness. It would have been so much easier if I would have thought of it and taken just a moment to add to the fuel. But I let it burn out.
And so I had to start over.
That was harder. And took way more time. And there are rules. Rules to create a real flame. And they coincide nicely with rules to create other lasting things we need to have warmth in our lives.
Adding little tiny pieces a few at a time allows the flame to build and makes it possible ultimately for the longer burning pieces to catch.
Just like gaining knowledge a piece at a time or letting love grow bit by bit will help it burn brighter, stronger and longer.
Starting with something that burns with ease is good, but it won't last long and certainly won't create long lasting warmth on its own.
Taking the easy road in a learning quest will get you quick but meaningless results. Relationships that ignite quickly but have no other substance (except more quick burning fuel), may feel great at first, but will burn out fast.
You have to feed it. And not all at once.Throwing a big log on a tiny ember will kill it.
Too much too soon will quickly extinguish growing thoughts or loving feelings.
Trying to catch something so big on fire on its own with a pre-generated flame will just burn out the lighter before it ever catches the log.
Don't go for the big stuff first. You will burn out. Build up to the deep knowledge or the deep intimacy. So much better when it happens all on its own instead of forcibly.
The flame you feed is the flame that will burn. You could have a great flame going, but if you don't add the right kind of fuel to it (whatever is next in the process), it will burn out, no matter how strong it was at some point.
If you add fuel to the fire of your testimony a little everyday...it will thrive. The same with your loved ones. If you feed that fire, it will burn. If you feed other fires...they will burn. And the flame of love for someone else will wane and die.
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