The Patience of Fire Making: the art of surrender

I’ve never been a good fire builder. I want to throw some bits of paper in, toss some wood on top, stir it all together like a winter stew, take a match to it and voila.. behold, fire. I have these expectations that it will immediately burst forth in flame, giving me warmth, gracing me with light.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, patience is not one of my virtues. My Divine Pause of 2021 taught me a lot about the beauty of stillness. And this particular night, the fire was teaching me the art of surrender. First I had to wad up the paper but not too tight. It had to breath. There had to be space in the in between. The paper needed pockets of oxygen in order to be of service.

Then I had to find small gentle branches that were dry and light. The heavy pieces of wood crushed the paper with its pockets of oxygen rendering it useless. It was a slow, intentional process. A graceful dance, really, between the tinder, the oxygen and the flame. It could not be rushed or the warmth and light of the flame that I so longed for, would only last for a momentary burst.

I sat back realizing that nothing was accomplished in the rushing. In the making of a fire or in life. The rushing is what crushes. The rushing paradoxically slows us down, makes us heavy, potentially renders us useless. In slowing down, we actually find the momentum to keep going, the life-sustaining flame of grace, warmth and hope needed to show up fully present.

The art of building a fire is a lot like the art of surrender. The beauty is in the letting go of expectations. The “have to do it this way” that others have put on me, and that I have put on myself. Living in the moment that is right before me, being where my feet are planted is truly where the gift is. It’s the in between. It’s where I find the oxygen that fuels the life-flame. It was the teaching of the fire.

And so I slowed, sat back, and watched as the ball of paper lit, first constricting, then expanding. All blue and green and yellow and red hot with life. Alive with purpose, giving itself to light the tender kindling with hope, surrendering itself to the finished work of ash. And a sweet-smelling savor rose to the heavens.