Being effective firewood in the flames of life
Autumn is here, a time of crisp golden, orange, red and brown leaves, of wrapping up warm against the cold outside, and of snuggling up by the fire indoors. Fires give light and heat. They warm hands and they warm hearts. They give a reassuring glow to a room and they help keep things crisp and dry. But they can only do that with fuel – fuel such as firewood. And, when you think about it, firewood is a strange thing – a thing that cannot fulfil its potential and purpose by staying in the same state as it begins.
It may be that a piece of wood has had a previous role to fulfil, whether as a table or a shelf or whatever it might be, before becoming redundant and destined for the fire. Or it may be that a tree was grown and cut down with the sole aim of being used as fuel for the flames. Either way, as firewood it must be scorched to be of use.
Firewood can only give light and heat if it is burned. A piece of firewood is useless unless it is put into the flame. Likewise, if I am not scorched by the flames of life I cannot give off a light that points people towards Christ. And as firewood becomes more and more burned and broken into pieces, it bursts into life again and again to emit a renewed light and heat, never ceasing until, making way for a fresh piece of wood that will face the same journey, it returns as ash to the earth from which it came.
As the burnt offering on the altar was to be kept burning in Moses’ day, so I pray that God will not pull me from the flames of life’s trials until He has granted the last blessing He has planned to bestow through the offering of my earthly life. I may not know the landing place of the sparks that God chooses to release through me as my life is refined in His fire, but I know He is in control and has plans for every person they influence.
Looking back at my life so far, I know it has been the most challenging times that have equipped me to be the most effective, which have grown me in my experience and understanding of God and have given me opportunities to meaningfully share that with others.
I know that without the fire of life’s trials and tribulations, I risk being a dry, unburned and useless piece of firewood.
So I rely on my friends to not try to pull me out of the flames of life’s challenges but to help me uncover the best way in which to embrace them. And I rely on certain trusted friends, who hopefully know who they are, to give me the prod I may need from time to time to make sure I release the light of those flames where I should.
Sarah Moore is the author of For the Love of Lentil, A journey of longing, loss and abundant grace, which tells the story of her experience of pregnancy and miscarriage. Copies of the book are available here.