I thought of Elijah tonight-the prophet who wished to die. Fear not not dear readers, I am not wishing for death (mine or anyone else's). I built a fire because my poor privileged feet were cold and would not be consoled or warmed throughout the day. As I settled by the fire, I intentionally picked to be quiet; I did not turn on music, I did not put my laptop on the place for which it is named. I simply sat. As the fire grew in strength after considerable stoking, my feet thawed. Then something curious happened. It was not my sense of touch or sight that next stirred. The sound of flames captured my attention; I closed my eyes and tried to think of what they mimic. (It was the fire itself, not the popping sound of burning wood.) In my mind's eye, and heart's ear, I could sense the flapping of wings, yes, wings. A quiet fire made sound as a flock of mute geese...
Mine and Elijah's God was not in the wind, the earthquake or the fire (I Kings 19).
Instead, it was the still small voice that arrested the prophet and me. How many times have I talked over the voice of God with a yes, but or a not now, there's much to be done. Thankful that he bid me to sit and wait by the fire this night.
Good night's rest and only God's peace,