Where the Sparks Go
One of my favorite things about sitting by a roaring
fire is the occasional pop and crackle that sends out a spray of sparks. I especially like to sit around a blazing fire
outdoors. We have a fire pit out on the
patio. It reminds me of the many
campfires I sat around on the family camping trips of my youth, and again, with
my own children.
The best thing about outdoor fires is you can watch the sparks shoot out from the flames. When the fire is inside in my fireplace you have to be a bit more cautious. I always pull the screen closed, and I set a second stationary screen in front of the opening to prevent the sparks from shooting out and burning a hole in our oak flooring. The second screen allows me to leave the glass doors open. The fireplace, the manufacturer says, heats the room more efficiently with the glass doors closed, but then you can’t hear the fire hiss and crackle which is a big part of the reason for having a wood-burning fireplace in the first place. I’ve never considered ours merely utilitarian; it’s there primarily to sing to my spirit.
That the sparks can be allowed the freedom to fly further from an outdoor fire is a healthy reminder that if you wish to dream more deeply, you need to broaden your point of vision, whether that's the vision of your eyes, or the vision of your heart.
My favorite wood for burning is maple. Around these parts it’s sugar maple. The grain is tight and straight so it’s easy
to split with the axe. The fire burns
bright and hot. The woodsmoke smells
delicious. And maple wood sends out the
most impressive sprays of sparks.
In my more practical younger days, I used to think
that the sparks didn’t last long. They
come exploding from deep in the fire bright red, but quickly turn yellow as
they begin to cool quickly. In anything
from a fraction of a second to maybe a bit more than, the light seems to extinguish. Maybe in that time they shoot as
much as 15-20 feet in the air.
In these, my shall we say more mellow days, I am prone
to believe – not think, but to believe – that perhaps the sparks don’t merely grow
cold, extinguish and float off for a bit on the air thermals rising from the
campfire and then sift back down to earth. Perhaps they pass through this
earthly dimension and get absorbed in the starlight that sparkles across the
night sky. There, they perhaps sing
forever to the glory of God.
Perhaps.
“In the time of their judgment they
shall shine and dart about as sparks through stubble.” Wisdom
3:7
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Lukas Seitz on Unsplash
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