True Acceptance

This post is a bit of a departure as it is a talk I gave recently for a student ministry overnighter.

Do you remember your first day of school?

I’m not sure how much I remember, but this is what I’ve been told about my first day of first grade. I was going into a new school building. My mom came to drop me off at Mrs. Fellman’s class. She took me inside, got me situated, my little desk, those little chairs, and as must happen eventually, she turned to leave. As many kids do, I started bawling. I grabbed my mom’s leg and wouldn’t let go. Nothing that my mom or the teacher could do would comfort me. Other kids are playing with toys and running around. I am causing a scene. I was inconsolable. Then the door opens and in walks Robbie Swanson. Robbie had been my best friend since we were three. I saw Robbie and stopped crying and happily went off to say hello. I found someone who knew me.

Or perhaps you remember your first day of Jr. High or High School.

I remember going into each of my new classes and scanning the room to see if there was anybody I had gone to elementary school with.

What is it that makes us do those things?

What makes us look for people that we know; who know us?

I would argue that we are hardwired to have friends. We’re hardwired to seek out people that we feel comfortable around. We need each other. We want to be accepted by people. We want our friends to turn to us and say that we’re worthwhile; that our lives mean something.

Think about it, little kids are all about feeling accepted. If they make a piece of art out of macaroni noodles or something they’ll come running to mom or dad or grandma or grandpa and they’ll be waving their masterpiece. My daughter is almost two and she stays with my mom while I’m at work and she does this all the time. I’ll come home from work and my mom will say ‘show daddy your picture’. And she’ll run over and wave it in front of me and start shouting something like: “it it hop see it hop”. I look at it and it’s just a smear of red paint and I’m like “its good honey”. And my mom will say “she painted a bunny”. “bunny, bunny, hop” Gotcha.

That’s how we are as little kids. We want someone to tell us that what we did was good. That’s why it’s so dangerous when people twist and manipulate that desire to be accepted in children. Or for too many of us, sometimes our parents don’t give us that kind of acceptance. Adults can do incredible damage by insisting that their children have to succeed to ‘earn’ their love and acceptance.

Some people even go so far as to say that unless we feel accepted, we can’t love other people or achieve our potential.

I want to look at some common examples of how we show that we all seek acceptance in our daily lives.

We’re not kids. I mean I’m certainly not a kid.

We can see this desire to be accepted in our own lives too though can’t we?

Have you ever had one of your friends get into a relationship that is just toxic? First they isolate themselves and spend time only with their boyfriend or girlfriend. Then everything becomes about the other person. What would so-and-so think about this? I can’t go, so-and-so might not be able come. We stand there helplessly and look at their lives and see them making bad choices and we can’t say anything about it?

Why does this happen?

It happens when they get so wrapped up in being accepted by that one person that the rest of their life gets all out of whack. They stop seeing the warning signs and only see the need to be accepted by that person.

I’ll be honest, when I was in Jr. High and Sr. High, I was all about having a girlfriend. I mean it drove me. I had a really messed up viewpoint where I viewed every girl as a “potential” girlfriend. I’d get stuck on one particular girl and spend all my time obsessing about her. I perfected my lame way of flirting: the “I look at you and then look away just as you look at me.” It was really lame but I had the timing down to a science. The thing was, I really never even got a girlfriend until I graduated high school, but I spent so much of my time and thought into finding one girl who would look at me and go “I like you. I want to spend my time with you.”

Lets look at another example of ways we show that we’re longing for acceptance.

I graduated high school in the year 2000. A lot has changed since then. There’s this thing called [squint and look for the word] “the internet”. I think it’s on the computer.

Probably my favorite thing that’s changed since I was in high school is that being a nerd is cool. It’s cool to read comic books and like superheroes.

When I was in high school this wasn’t the case. There was a comic book store a few blocks from my school and on Saturdays I remember having my mom drive me down there. I always felt like I was on some undercover sting operation. We’d park out front and then I’d walk up the store and pretend like I was just walking down the street and look up at the sign like “oh hey, this is the first time I’ve ever seen this type of store, let me go in and see what it is that they sell”.

I was so embarrassed to be seen reading comics and playing card games. I never talked to anyone but my closest friend or my parents about them. I was hiding that part of myself from everybody else because I didn’t want them to reject me.

This is another sign that we’re all really seeking acceptance: we change parts of ourselves that we don’t think others are going to like or accept.

Have you ever found yourself talking to someone and thinking: “I can’t say X because this person won’t understand” or maybe you don’t think about it consciously like that but you kind of guard yourself to the point where you only talk about certain things with certain people. You’ve got a line and you can talk and talk and talk right up until you get to the line and then: stop. We all do this. I don’t care how popular you are or how much you enjoy talking with others. We hold parts of ourselves back because we don’t think that people will accept us.

Ok this is the point in the talk where you go: so what?

It’s one thing to see how we all are seeking someone to accept us; seeking someone to say “I like you just the way you are”. But how does that affect our lives?

Let me suggest two ways that we can take this knowledge and apply it to our lives:

The first way I think we can learn from this is by simply understanding that we all have this desire for acceptance.

In our own lives we can keep ourselves out of some really hurtful situations by knowing that we seek acceptance. We can keep ourselves from getting into some toxic relationships by recognizing when we might be leaning too heavily into a boyfriend or girlfriend. If we’re really aware of our need, we can catch ourselves before we get into situations that have the possibility to be hurtful.

We can also keep ourselves from becoming emotional leeches by recognizing that we’re really seeking acceptance and finding healthier outlets for that feeling.

We can also learn to be better friends. When we recognize that the people around us want to be accepted, it allows us to think about them first and try and be accepting for them. For example, if you find yourself in a situation where there is a new person in your group, if you know that they probably want to be accepted, you can do simple things like asking them questions and keeping them involved.

Going along with that, one of the ways that I’ve been learning to look out for the concerns of others is to simply be involved in every conversation that I’m part of. Instead of thinking of the next thing you’re going to say, be involved in what your friends are saying. When you pay attention to what they’re saying, you’re telling them that you care about them and that you accept them as valuble people.

So far we’ve looked at this idea of being accepted and seen how each of us longs to be known and love by others. We want someone to come along side us and say “I like you. I want to spend time with you”. We’ve seen how that desire will drive us to some pretty unhealthy places like staying in bad relationships or censoring ourselves instead of standing up for what we believe it.

I think that this longing to be accepted goes far deeper than simply having a big group of friends or having a loving boyfriend or girlfriend. Even if you could have all those things and feel loved and accepted at home, it still wouldn’t be enough. I mean no one knows 100% if what goes on inside our heads. No other person can truly know us and therefore no one can accept us 100%.  And if we’re honest with ourselves, there are parts of ourselves that we’re not proud of. There are things we’ve done that we don’t even like; things we don’t want anyone else to know about because they show just how messed up we are.

We long for acceptance because we’re actually longing for something far bigger than merely the acceptance of a friend. We’re longing to be accepted by God.

God is the only one who knows 100% of our thoughts; the only one who can see us for who we really are: the good, the bad, the ugly. We want someone to accept us 100% but God is the only one who is capable of doing this.

I don’t know what preconceptions you have about God. I don’t know if you view God as some supreme court justice in heaven who’s just looking to punish you for everything you do wrong. I don’t know if you even believe in God. But let me assure you of this. There IS a God and He WANTS to have a relationship with you that is loving and accepting. He knows everything you’ve done and still wants to know you. But we need to be honest about who we are and what we’ve done. We need to accept that we’re jerks a lot of the time and that we’ve done a lot of things that are wrong. We’ve done a lot of evil and horrible things. We’ve lied and cheated. We’ve lusted and tried to fill the holes in our lives with a lot of junk.  We deserve punishment.

 But God wanted to have a relationship with us so bad that He sent his only Son Jesus to take all the punishment that we deserved. That’s how bad he wants to have a relationship with us. In fact, the Bible says that BEFORE we get our lives together, BEFORE we even try to live a life that is pleasing to God. WHILE we were still helpless and pathetic and evil. That’s when Jesus died for us. He didn’t say “hey, get your life together, then come and talk to me”. No, he said, I want to have a relationship with you so badly that I’m willing to die for you even BEFORE you care about me. That’s sacrifice. That’s someone who loves you.

That’s what really drew me into a relationship with Jesus. I suffered from anxiety disorder and depression throughout my jr. high and high school and that kept me from forming any real friendships. All I wanted was to be accepted by someone. It was really that desire for acceptance that led me from a head knowledge about God to a place where I was willing to give up my life to accept what Jesus had done for me.

So I want to ask you today, are you seeking acceptance? Let me encourage you to go to Jesus with that desire. He’s the only one who knows us fully and loves us enough to die for us.

The Northern Lake

At dusk the deer venture down to drink and browse on the shrubbery that grows along the shore: a wary doe, a yearling fawn, and overlooking it all, a vigilant, spike buck. His eyes and ears ever watchful as the pair in his charge happily gorge themselves on young shoots. In the placid water, the trio is inverted reaching down rather than up. The doppelgänger buck’s nose twitches, testing the air, its ears turning this way and that.

Somewhere off in the gathering darkness of the forest an owl begins its evening reveries, a mournful cry echoing across the expanse. The spike turns his head in the direction of its origin then returns to browsing.

Though the gloom has already returned to the forest floor, the lake still shimmers with the sun’s fading rays, hovering just above the tree-line. The uttermost branches of the towering pines and golden aspens that ring the lake are aglow in brilliant autumn’s fury even as their roots descend into shadow. The wind bends their tops bringing the tannic aroma of pine.

Branches crack somewhere in the distance; some forest denizen abroad; perhaps a marten or a fisher surveying a night’s meal. A scuttle issues from a tree, a raccoon descends for a night of childlike revelry.

The deer are gone.

Such is the drama of the northern lake, a uniquely idyllic scene known by those who venture forth into the wilds of the north extremes. They retain some of the mystery lost by their southern cousins to development and the encroachment of man. Still here, if one is willing to heave brave the extremes both meteorological and entomological, one may find the remnants of our boreal past. Few pleasures of modern life can rival the pristine wonders here. The television cannot equal the dramas played out in the wilderness. Radio cannot match the pervasive shush of the wind confronting the leaves in perpetual assault. The internet does not hold mastery over the sense of all-encompassing awe when we are able to quiet ourselves for five minutes in the shadowy domain of the forest floor. Perhaps one day these mysteries too will be lost, a relic of some former unenlightened age. We would do well to weep at the possibility of a time when development or attention span will place there outside our grasp. Pity it will be if children grow up without wondering with baited breathe what creature was stirring outside their tent.

Today though, these mysteries are still possible and can be ours if we can quiet ourselves long enough to comprehend them. A balm and elixir they still can be to our harried, frantic souls. If only we were to set aside so-called comfort for solitude. We live our lives destitute of wonder; starving for the natural world, which has become all too detached from us. Too often have we sacrificed peace for convenience. It may yet be remedied, if this insidious disease has not too far advanced, by returning, if even for a day, an hour, a moment to the beauty of creation.

The sun has departed. Shadows fall upon the cool, silent water from whose depths springs bubble up from the aether. Mayflies dance above the surface, daring ever closer in their bold pursuit. Perhaps tomorrow a loon will glide in gentle repose over the water, confident in its solitude. Perhaps its haunting cry will echo through the wilderness. Let us stay awhile and see…

The Blessing of Delay

I have some pretty bad days. On the low days I often feel beaten down by the troubles of my life and the anxieties of my mind. There are many days that the victory is simply persevering; pushing through to another day. There are times when my own striving against sin seems to become a war of attrition, or worse --- a quagmire. There are nights I close my eyes pleading for the Lord’s power to get through another day.

In addition to the trials and temptations, I am particularly affected by the pains of the world and of those around me. I’ve always been this way, even before I came to know Christ I can remember attending a party where the guests were engaged in all sorts of licentiousness and promiscuity. Even in my pre-regenerate state I was overcome by the sin and evil present there. I knelt on the ground in pain for my friends. In fact it was this very sense of innate sinfulness of the world that led me later to seek Christ.

Similarly, I am affected by the pain and ungodliness of the world. Many days after hearing of war and famine; of precious men and women pursuing ungodly paths, I am stricken and tempted to despair. When the righteous are persecuted, oppressed, and ridiculed I ask: “How long Lord must we endure?” This is the thought I often return to:  a yearning for the day of reconciliation when we will see our Lord Jesus face to face; when all pain will be wiped away.

Perhaps, however, I am approaching this world all wrong. In 2 Peter we read: “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” and later “count the patience of our Lord as salvation.” Could it be that in my weariness and dissatisfaction I am mistaking unhappiness for blessing? Perhaps in the fishbowl world of my own self-absorption I am missing the patience of God in light of my own trivial, temporary discomforts? In truth the fact that we are still in this world (and thus experiencing the pains that come with that) is evidence not of the Lord’s absence or forgetfulness but rather a testament to his patience and desire to see men and women saved. When I realize this, I am made aware of my own narrow selfishness and challenged to praise the Lord for his reticence rather than condemn Him for His perceived inaction. What would He be able to do through me if my eyes were open to my role in bringing about God’s purposes instead of clouded by my own pride?

First Impressions

I’ll be honest; I didn’t have the best reaction when I found out that my wife and I were going to have a baby. She broke the news to me while on vacation in a hotel outside of Cincinnati. When she told me, I spent an hour shut up alone in the hotel bathroom listening to a Reds-Nationals game through the flimsy door while dealing with my conflicted emotions. Not the greatest start to fatherhood. I’d like to think that I’ve grown a bit since then. I hope. Once I’d gathered myself and wrestled my emotions, there was one thing that came to my mind; a vision really: I imagined myself hiking with my child; pointing out the animals and natural features to their wild-eyed wonder. It was that image that helped me push past the fear and doubt that plagued our pregnancy.

My daughter, now nearly two, surprised me last Friday night. I had just persevered through another work week, and pushed past a disappointing set of circumstances. The summer had faded into autumn a day before as the temperature had dropped and the scent of fall was in the air. I needed to hike. I needed to get out; to get lost; to be surrounded by a world larger than myself. So I packed up my things and as I was walking out the door my daughter came up to me.

“Hiking,” she said in her sweet, musical voice, “I hiking.” I told her that she needed to stay and eat dinner and that daddy was going to be back real soon. She didn’t take well to that notion. She began whining, saying “I want go hiking.” My wife and I just gave each other bemused glances. My daughter went downstairs and began tugging at my backpacking equipment. In the end I managed to convince her that she needed to stay and eat. I promised that we would go hiking tomorrow and with that I was off.

True to my word, I waited anxiously for her to wake from her nap the next day. Once awake, I packed some goldfish, a sippy cup, and tossed her backpack into my truck.

I wish I could see things anew through my daughter’s eyes. I wish I could understand the wonder with which she experiences things that I have known for nearly thirty years. I listened as she mimicked the cry of the Blue Jay perched high atop the skeleton of an ancient oak. She laughed uproariously as I franticly tried to shake myself free of a spider that had climbed up my arm. I saw the joy in her eyes as she tried to count the ducks resting on the surface of the impounded stream. “One, two, five…” I heard her protests when I tried to walk away before she had finished counting (which is kind of funny since she can only count to ten). I wish desperately that I could find within myself the joy that seems to be brimming in her. So much of the anxiety and frustration I experience on a daily basis is born from a deficiency of joy. My daughter schools me. I need to hold my life with open hands; to view the world with the eyes of wisdom but also to view the world with the freshness of a child. Let me have the veil of cynicism removed to see the mystery of the world anew.

A Theology of Wilderness

Within a mile of my home is Ford Lake and I often find myself strolling along its southern shoreline in the afternoon hours. The lake was first created in the 1930’s when auto magnate Henry Ford dammed the Huron River to provide hydroelectric power for one of his plants. Today the lake is a beautiful, if somewhat polluted, reminder of how nature quickly reclaims spaces abandoned by mankind.

The shore upon which I walk runs the length of one of the city’s largest parks and is largely populated by oak and maple trees which, in the heart of autumn, rustle lyrically in the breezes off the lake. In the summer, blackbirds carouse in a nearby marsh preening and posturing in amorous display. Winter brings an ever-present carpet of snow upon which the tracks of rabbits crisscross in manic patterns that bespeak their erratic flights. All of this still seems foreign to me though I have experienced it for five such cycles now.

I was raised in a suburb of Detroit in a thoroughly developed neighborhood and though my family exposed me daily to the natural world around me: the squirrel busily content beneath the boughs of an oak tree or the life that scuttled along the bottom of a seasonal pond, my experiences with Nature largely came through vacations the family took into the great forest of northern Michigan. There exists in my heart a well of love for the northern Oak-Hickory forest of which my state is so blessed. The haunting call of a loon upon a placid lake seems to bring inexplicable peace to my heart. The scent of a pine forest urges me ever to explore the wilderness further; pressing onward into the unknown and the uncivilized.

All of these things however, were far from my normative experience. The closest opportunity to surround myself with the vastness and beauty was a forty five minute drive to Kensington Metropark, which, for a child without means of personal transportation and whose parents were both employed outside the home, meant that such trips were a rare treat.

When I married and bought a home, I had few expectations of the natural world. It was only after we had moved in that I even began to realize that I lived within walking distance of a lake ---a real lake! How far removed I was from the uniformity of suburbia. I have only to drive five minutes to reach country fields and dirt roads. As it turns out, there is even a nature preserve within a five minute drive.

All these blessings lead me to my walk beside the lake. Despite the relative proximity to a bustling highway and busy condominiums the depth of this glade affords me the luxury of illusion. For me, the natural world holds a power beyond compare. It is a refuge, rejuvenation, refreshment. Surrounded by water and trees I can see the handiwork of God. I understand (and affirm) that Man is God’s creation as well (his penultimate creation, in fact) yet the natural beauty of Man is lost amid the sin-stain. The works of Man: great art, architecture, medicine all bear the fingerprint of their Creator, but it is sub creation once removed. Too many times I the sins and disappointments of the world send me fleeing for the purity and solitude of God’s creation; a creation that exists and flourishes in the absence, and indeed often in spite of Man. Among the pines I am overcome with the closeness of the Creator and marvel at the works of His hands. Even in the most mundane details: the recesses of a stone, the ripples radiating out upon the waters, I sense the handiwork of the Divine.

As I walk along the fertile banks, my eyes are inexorably drawn to the noxious elements of Man. I see an empty potato chip bag half-submerged amid the weeds. I see bottle caps hammered into the rock-hard ground. Most ubiquitously the discarded beer can in various shades of decay at the base of a bush, its label fading from the years of solar abuse, evidence to the longevity of such refuse. I am always taken aback by the wantonness of such abuses. I see in them the very epitome of Man’s corruptive sinfulness. Once given the mandate to cultivate and manage the Earth, our rebellion now infects not only our moral and social spheres but even the land itself whose soil once fell from the fingertips of God. We need not look to prisons or far-off dictatorships to feel the indictment of our crimes. We should only look at the rotting remains of discarded insulation that sullies the canvas of creation. Depravity never stays confined to our hearts.

As fallen men and women we bring our brokenness into every place we reside. In our selfishness and pride we damage both each other and the landscape. It is only through the redeeming work of Christ that restoration can come to the land and our lives.

My heart will always reside where the air is cool; where the branches sway gently; where fish drift slowly beneath the surface of the water. Though the affairs and troubles of the world often encroach upon the fringes of the Wild, those who value still such things must continue to find solace there. Those who can still discern the fingerprints of the Lord must persevere in seeking them while they may yet be found.

Lenses

Lenses are really big right now. I tend to be a photographic purist who tries to capture the essence of the true object in the photo. Filters and lenses use mechanical or technological means to alter the image. What you see with your eyes is not what appears on film or screen. With the advent of Instagram and other social media sites that streamline the photographic process. Simple filter apps allow the user to alter any (and seemingly every) image until it resembles their artistic vision. These filters and lenses change the way we view the artwork; they change the way we perceive reality.

We, too, have lenses through which we view the world. These are our worldviews and philosophies. Sometimes we can identify and expound upon them. Often though, the roots of our worldviews are deeper and less accessible. They shape how we live on a very practical level. Our habits and behaviors are shaped not by our intellectual assents but by the lens through which we view the world. Very often, though our words may speak of truth, our thoughts and actions remain firmly rooted in faulty lenses; faulty perspectives. We may protest by creedal assent but our behaviors speak something closer to truth.

For the follower of Christ, we claim our identity in Jesus. We speak the creeds. We teach truth. Yet so often our own habits and sins betray our words. Too often we operate through a lens which is not compatible with the gospel. We live lives in private that are defined by doubt, sin, feelings of helplessness and insecurity. Though we would firmly rebuke such attitudes if confronted in the pulpit, we live lives of spiritual poverty. Peter wrote that “His divine power has granted to us everything pertaining to life and godliness.” We go throughout our lives under faulty pretenses. For the Christian, our identity HAS been changed, past tense. We HAVE (past tense, again) been given power to live godly lives. We must endeavor with all our being to rebuke the false lenses that cause us innumerable pains and powerlessness. Peter goes on to write that: “He who lacks these qualities [the power pertaining to life and godliness] is blind or short-sighted, having forgotten his purification from his former sins.” Ouch. Peter’s words wound us because they illuminate the depth of the deception in which we so often live; the lies we so often believe. Let us live, with enduring focus on diffusing the false heart-beliefs that shape our experience and deprive us of the power to live joyfully as Christ’s ambassadors

The Finch

The finch lands daintily on the feeder giving a few wary glances to the left and to the right, its rosy breast made more prominent by the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. My yard is a flurry of activity as dozens of birds scramble for one last meal before the day’s end. Pugnacious house sparrows clamber for seating at my tube feeder each evicting the other with scarcely a morsel consumed. My ever –present companions, the mourning doves stroll absent-mindedly beneath, pausing to peck casually at the seeds dislodged by the tumultuous sparrows. Throughout the seasons these doves remain denizens of my yard and can often be found perched picturesquely atop my shed or on the gable of my neighbor’s house. My daughter lovingly mimics their contented coo. On the fringes of the yard, alert and aloof, a female cardinal in her muted (but still regal) attire discerns her moment to dart in for a bite. At the first hint of trouble though she is gone in a flash of rouge, off to the safety of one of the bushes that grow along the fence line.

My friend the finch, though, is my favorite perhaps because in his nervous energy I can see an echo of my own. Or perhaps because despite his keen distrust of the din and clatter he still returns each night to the nyjer seeds I provide. I admire his resolve. Less gaudy than his golden cousins, the simple house finch seems satisfied and humble.

What does his innocent brain comprehend? Does he know that in a few short months the days will grow lean and every moment will be singularly focused on survival? Does he feel the air beginning to chill his bones? Does he watch in envy at the columns of geese embarking on their long migration south? Do his wings ache for the freedom of discovery?

No. The finch is content with the day, not living in fear of the unknown; the perilous future; not hording to provide for some unforeseen disaster. Little does he concern himself with the scandalous affairs of his neighbors: their pompous adornments; their hurried endeavors.

I marvel at the simplicity of the life outside my window for the life within is so often the opposite: complexity born from circumstance and, more disturbingly, complexity born from my own inner turmoil and sin; my own brokenness and fear. In truth, I envy my friend the finch, which, in his innocence, is summarily exempt from the sin-stained consequences of his actions. Of course the price of this innocence is his very soul. Yet I look out at the finch at the feeder and the trust he has in the ability of the feeder to remain full in perpetuity. So much dependence on the whims of an unseen hand. Still he finds the contentment in his day to sing for the joy of singing as the last rays of light disappear behind the trees. So sing, feathered teacher, I still have much to learn.

The Campfire

What is it about the campfire that transfixes the eyes and hearts of men? What power lies locked in those smoldering embers that draws and opens the soul? We sit in the day’s waning hours bound to it by a force more powerful than a desire for heat. We are bound to a sort of community of flame. In a world of illumination what power does this conflagration still hold on us?

The only comparison is the pull that television and other visual media have on us. How many of us have watched with perverse interest at the way the eyes of a child are drawn to the flashing images on the screen? How many of us, if we were honest, would confess to feeling that same pull ourselves? How many conversations have been derailed; how many conflicts begun because our attention leaned into its siren song? Visual media often draws us into isolation because our minds cannot forebear to alight on anything else. The flames however speak to us in a different language. Like the tongues of fire in the book of Acts they speak in a way that we can understand and comprehend translating themselves into the deepest questions of our heart. In the light of the campfire deep recesses are unlocked and the secret murmurs of the heart are heard. Far from the frame-a-second barrage from television and movies, the fire works not to suspend but to engage the mind.

So what of the campfire? Why does this chemical reaction of spark and wood and oxygen have such a similar pull; a similar allure? Perhaps we hearken back to an earlier age when the fire brought forth certainty; the assurance of food and safety and warmth. We hear the stirrings of the forest around us. We hear the creatures prowling about on the fringes, yet within the circle there is peace. Within the circle there is comfort. Perhaps the circle of light into which we are drawn echoes the security we desire for our souls. Perhaps we long for the divine intervention as on Sinai. In those flickering flames we draw near to hear, as Moses did, the voice of God.

Far from isolation, however, the fire draws us instead together into a community bound by flame. How many conversations have begun between the crackle and snap of combustion? As the permutation of wood into ash, the tongue itself is loosed. Even the staunchest isolationist has found himself saying things and feeling less alone. The awkwardness that plagues many of us is consumed in that circle; perhaps consumed as the very trees we burn, transformed into a climate of tolerance. Even the walls we have erected within our hearts and minds seem melted by the heat of that fire; dissolved by the slow, unpredictable dance of the flames in the night.

I cannot help but wonder whether we would not be better served by setting more sparks to flame; by sitting down beside the fire at dusk. The answer rings clear in my heart. The answer contains less screen time and more time spent within the circle. There are lessons to be learned, it would seem, as we are drawn closer to the simmering embers. Irrational as these musing seem, there is a mysterious truth to the mingling of tongues of flame and branches; life from death; form to formless; ashes to ashes. We have much to learn if we only would clear the space; to light the fire.