pURGED bY tHE fIRE

pURGED bY tHE fIRE

Why are there trials in the world, and other things that bring us pain? So often I’ve heard people remark that they will be made stronger because of them—then why is it that I feel this way? My head tells me that trials purge away the unnecessary elements—that which is left will come forth from the fires as precious gold.

Then why is it that I feel that everything is burning away? My hopes, my dreams, my ambitions—they are all being consumed by the fire. While my desires all remain unmet, somehow all of my needs are always fulfilled.

Who is it that I am becoming? If my desires are stripped away—than what have I become? This partial living, this dichotomy is characterizing my existence.

“Hope in the unseen” is what I’ve heard. I thought it was love that supposed to be blind—but now hope too has to be included.

The fire burns intense, it burns bright, and it burns hot. I am being consumed by the fire. It was painful, but I emerge once again from the fire.

I cannot see the finished product—I do not know what it is that I am becoming. The metallurgist pounds furiously away at me.

I rather enjoyed that dimple and that splotch, but I suppose it does not suit the metallurgist’s purpose. It’s gone now… the memory remains, but I am being changed.

Back into the flame, I am plunged again. I think I understand what the metallurgist is trying to do. It is easier to be shaped when I am in the fire. Without the flames, I prefer my original shape—but this flame forces me to give up all that I have held onto.

In the flames, I wonder why couldn’t I be shaped by less drastic measures, but I realize that I am stubborn. Why would I conform to any other method—no I suppose it must be in the fire.

Purged—it’s been purged away.

Out of the fire I emerge—different and changed. He continues to fashion me into the vessel he wants me to be. Perhaps he wants me to be a cup or perhaps a vase… does it matter anyway? Whatever I become, I have a specific purpose to fulfill.

Back into the fire I go—is this time different? Do I fully understand what the maker is doing? I don’t suppose I do. My suggestions go unacknowledged… perhaps He smiles at them, perhaps they fit into a different place in his timeline.

All I know is that I am back in the fire again: and it doesn’t seem so bad this time.