a smouldering log

I've built more fires in the last six months of my life than ever before. In New Zealand, homes are not heated centrally and wood fires are quite common.

While house sitting for friends last week, I tried to start a fire but, as my friend's note indicated, the wood was wet. The stubborn person that I am, I decided to try anyway.

I spent the next few hours literally sitting beside the fire, blowing on it a lot to start, then every couple minutes, then I had the door half open to keep oxygen flowing. And it got me thinking.

I've been spending the past two months living in very close quarters with 14 other people, including sharing a bedroom. I live with my co-workers and the students I'm serving. And it's given me a strong reflection of my humanness.

When I don't bring all of myself to the group, it's like I'm not blowing on the fire. When I am indifferent to their antics, it's like I'm cutting off the oxygen. When I am grumpy or frustrated, I am a wet log that gets thrown onto the pile, smouldering the fire.

As a praying man said in the Bible, "God have mercy on me, a sinner."