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Bushes on Fire that Don't Burn Up


I sat down last night at the end of my day and made a fire.

I wanted to reflect on the day’s events, my life in common with Hope Street, and Shechem. Staring at a fire seemed to be the best way to see things clearly. The fire was my companion, and we talked about our other old friends, other fires, other people. There was the Pentecost Fire who lit up the room and gave voices to people who’d never been heard; ears to people who didn’t know they weren’t listening. There was the Bush Fire who burned but didn’t burn up the bush, but DID light Moses on fire. Then there was just me, the almost 62 year old version of me, and My Fire. My Fire started talking about all the memories we’ve shared together at Hope Street over the last 20 years. All the people we’ve met. All the Fires. How both have consumed us. The pain of loss burning in our souls, the joy of life burning so bright where there had only been darkness. Earlier in the day I stood alone on the roof of Hope Street waiting for the crane, crew, and precast wall panels to show up and be erected for Shechem. But before any of them came, the Ball of Fire rose in the east.

It’s not like He wasn’t there all along, just that I couldn’t see him. And that Ball of Fire helped light my imagination to see this day was not about something we could say we started. It was about being consumed by Fire. Consumed, regenerated, and reborn, to burn brightly in the darkness.


Father God show us your Glory so we don’t allow our thoughts to rule over our imagination. Thank you for our leaders at Hope Street who’ve caught fire for your vision. Fan the righteous flames of effort and energy, snuff out the foolish thoughts that cause us to stumble.

Consume us


Amen

PB (Former Executive Director and Volunteer)

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