3/28/2018

A soft light flickered into existence. I took a deep breath and pushed it into the ember, gently but firmly, watching it spring to life, fire catching the wood around it. Again, I offered it air from my lungs, helping it up like helping a friend climb out of a ditch. Soon, a strong orange light spilled out of my fireplace, and I curled up on the floor beside it, bathing in the warmth it provided in return for my service.

Funny how life works, I mused to myself. Funny how one can breathe life into inanimate objects, or become emotionally attached to something with no soul. I gazed into the flickering tongues beside me, considering how lifelike they were, and how without my pouring my own essence into the pile of wood, they would not be there now.

Kind of like us, I supposed. After all, what more are we than dust? I nodded. Not sure why, given that it was with myself I was agreeing. But it was true: God came down and fashioned us from clay, and with the air from His lungs, brought us to life. I grinned at my burning creation. If someone like me could create something so beautiful, how proud then must He be with what He has made?

I thought for another moment. I didn't need that fire. But its warmth was much appreciated all the same. Surely then, the same could be said for when we praise God for all that He has done for us. Our prayers and thanks must feel like the refreshing comfort of laying beside a gentle fire in the winter.

Perhaps I'm wrong, of course. But I like to think otherwise.