Sleep Close to the Fire
by Cary Branscum
Walking up a mountain in the frigid October predawn darkness of the Colorado Rockies, my friends dropped me at a small tree covered rocky spot, then walked on over the mountain. I had tagged along on a wilderness trip, and the guide left me at a spot near the summit. While the rest of the group continued their trek, I wanted to see some elk in the wild. Soon the herd would appear out of the darkness, and wind their way up the trails, just past me, to graze on the slope. Sitting alone on a large rock, under a few scraggly scrub oaks, I caught my breath and allowed the sweat of my exertion to evaporate. One thing quickly became obvious -- I hadn't worn enough warm clothes. Clutching my denim jacket around my already shivering frame, I waited for the sunrise, and dreamed of all the warm, thick coats I'd left hanging in my closet in Fort Worth, Texas. I passed the coldest hour of my life, teeth chattering uncontrollably, arms shaking inside my jacket.
Suddenly, two things happened. First, the orange red sun pierced the darkness over Sleepy Cat Mountain, and the ground began to shake. Spellbound I stood up, walked out of the trees and stared numbly toward the sound of running thunder. The next moment, a horned ghostly mass rose through the mist, and ran past me, their steaming breath illuminated by the sun's first light. Your first sight of elk in the wild is so awesome you'll never forget it. Soon the herd passed on and over the mountain. Shaking from the cold and excitement, I vainly tried to absorb the warmth of the sun. A few hours later, my friends returned, and we walked to the cabin. The little gas stove in the corner was the most welcome sight of my life. I pulled a chair next to it, stared, and sat. Finally, I began to warm up, and blissfully spent the rest of the day wiggling the cold numbness from my toes and fingers. After dinner, sleep came quickly for us all. Staying within the margin of safety, I dragged my bunk as close as possible to the old stove. As I nodded off, I made a mental note to give everyone a good piece of advice: Sleep Close to the Fire. That's the advice I want to share with you right now.
In Exodus chapter 3, Moses was on a mountain, tending a flock. Flames of fire appeared in a bush, and an angel appeared in the flames. Curiosity, not warmth, drew Moses closer. God called his name. He was warned not to come closer. Moses stayed in the margin of safety. He took of his shoes, for it was holy ground, sacred, set apart for God. Yahweh revealed His Identity, and Moses hid his face. God gave Moses a Mission and a Purpose. After initially trying to back down from the call, Moses, like most us, stumbled on toward the greatness of the Call of God. The rest of his life, Moses slept close to the fire.
Where's "the Fire" in your life? Have you seen it? Have you felt it? Fire is general but our personal fire is very specific. What warms you? Who knows your name? What is holy for you? What is the fire that gives you identity? What gives you Mission and Purpose? God may not speak in a burning bush, but His Word is alive, and His Spirit is in us. Are we warmed by flame His Word? Have we felt the heat of His holy fire, the Holy Spirit? In the cold night of the soul, have we let God drive away the chill through prayer? Or are we simply chilled in spirit because we've lost our fire, our holy fire. If you're shivering right now, let me warm you up.
First, find your fire. Read His Word, pray, and rest in God's power to kindle the flames of the Spirit of God.
Second, find others who have a fire. Be with those special people who warm your spirit, talk with them, share their joys and sorrows, and look for opportunities to be with them.
Third, within the margin of safety and love, share your fire with others. There may be someone right now who is shivering, waiting for spiritual warmth, illumination, and fellowship.
Finally, cherish your fire, tend it with the Word and with prayer, and keep it going.
Good night, sweet child of God, and in the chill of life, please remember to sleep close to the fire.
Posted: 05/15/2003
URL: http://www.heartlight.org/articles/200305/20030515_fire.htmlCopyright (c) 2003, Cary Branscum <cary@westover.org>. Used by permission.
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