Fire. I want it. I need it. I pray to walk in holy fire and I hear the promise that it will come. I see visions of fire. The Pillar of Fire to guide. The all consuming Fire that purifies. The Fire that wounds. The Fire that heals. The Fire that speaks.
But the fire can only be fueled by sacrifice. One that is perfect, without blemish. One that is costly.
Have you ever given a costly gift? Like Abraham? Like the three Hebrew boys thrown into the fire? One that will cost you everything?
In a way that can only be described as death, I find myself willingly submitting my hopes for something beautiful AND my fear of the worst to the Fire. I trust that even if the worst happens, He can still create beauty from the ashes of sacrifice.
Because…without a sacrifice there will be no fire.
No strings attached. No: “I’ll give you this as long as you promise to give it back, when you’re finished.”
He may never give it back. And even if He does, it will not look the same. Fire changes the composition of things. The thing placed in the fire, will never be the same…if it exists at all.
I find myself saying:
“If there was anything ever truly good, worthy of the King —-then let that be the thing that survives the fire. If not, let it all burn.“
Strangely enough, to give it all. To offer up the most tender, fearful, hidden parts of my heart upon the altar to be consumed—as scary as it sounds—there is something freeing about it.
Like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Not only did they find a 4th Man in the fire…but they found their ropes burned away.
The fire burns what binds. And reveals The Holy One.
For His glory. For our hope.