On a sunny spring morning with nearly no breeze, I stood in the still-dormant grass of the ditch just a half-mile up from our home. I watched that old, white farmhouse burn. Flames swirled orange out of every window and door. I felt the heat on my face from across the street.

Our 25-year-old son Zach, a volunteer fireman, watched the burn from the home’s front lawn along with other men and women from four local fire departments. At least this fire was planned and controlled. At least with this fire, my son knew what to expect. It’s not always so.

Several years ago, Zach fought flames of another home while he saw another fireman come out of the blaze with a listless, young boy in his arms. When you look into the face of a little one who ends up dying, it can sear an indelible mark on your mind—a scar on your heart. Zach still lowers his head and wipes away tears when we talk of that time.

I wonder if Zach thinks of his own fires he’s survived, still with many inner wounds no one sees. He knows his life was spared from another sort of fire—the fire of being aborted at 28 weeks, surviving though not breathing at birth, then sent to live his first four years in a Russian orphanage. One of sixty children under six, he and the others were in constant, desperate need of more holding, more loving, more food. How does such an experience affect mind, body, and soul? 

Zach hasn’t always experienced “controlled burns” in his life. Several years ago, there was the massive barn just west of us that turned fast into a raging inferno. Zach’s job? Keep the mama cows who had run out from running back into the flames for their calves that didn’t follow. I watched that fire from a distance too. I wept for the mama cows. I wept for their calves. I wept for Zach. I wept because of death and broken hearts, human and animal, and how all this pain just should not be.

Real fires, planned or not, consume. And some of life’s flames don’t consume homes, barns, or bodies.

Some flames sear souls and leave us with gaping heart holes. Losses we feel might be worse than death sometimes. And, truth is, we all go about trying to fill those holes, trying to not feel the burn, trying to hide behind put-on smiling faces saying we’re OK when, on the inside, we are anything but. And so it goes. On and on.

I’ve known many, seduced into believing we can heal—or at least just survive—by avoiding our thoughts, by stuffing our emotions, by trying to cut away/drown away/eat away/shop away/write away/excel away/people-please away/(add your own away) our pain in places no one sees. Because God forbid someone might see the real me and have a free-shot at judging and rejecting. I know the pain. You too?

But Pain has his/her way of demanding expression, of being heard or seen, like it or not.

Yet, here’s truth . . .

The burns and cuts of life must be faced in order to heal, to grow, to thrive and experience the abundant life Jesus promised (John 10:10).

We’ve all felt the heat of life, haven’t we?  We’ve all been scorched by some sort of loss, haven’t we?

I’ve come to know, especially because of the “controlled burns”—coming to terms with the deaths, the judgments, the rejections, the invisible disabilities of so many I love—that I can trust God. Not that the burns don’t hurt anymore. But now I know the burns, and the pain, serve a holy purpose.

The pain helps me seek him—the one, true God who loves like no other—who fills my heart and soul like no other.

I still struggle a bit with trust. But God is ever-patient and gentle with me, always providing me new opportunities to step out, ever so slightly, and discover his tender mercies for me. And then I can see better his tender mercies for others.

I have come to know and believe this which gives rest to my heart and soul:

We are God’s workmanship, from first to last. (Ephesians 2:10)

And God preserves his own, even when taken down to the very foundation. Because we all need to be taken down to the foundation of our being, to have our true selves rebuilt by the True God who built us without all our self-made additions.

Burning down the old makes way for the building of new.

In God’s hands, the burning, though painful, is always controlled. We need not fear.

God is faithful to complete the good work he has begun in us. (Philippians 1:6).

Faithful.

Trust-worthy.

When we feel like God has heated us beyond our capacity to withstand, it’s often then we discover the hand that holds us firmly in the flames, guiding—and sometimes carrying—us through.

Always through. Never abandoned.

Never.

Because nothing . . .

Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:26-39.)

No painful circumstance.

Not even our back-turned, walk-away, grief-stricken, fear-infused, anger-ridden, cynical selves.

God loves us, yearns for us, waits for us, watches for us, and always wants to welcome us back. (Luke 15.)

True life—abundant life—can only be found in God’s presence. I’ve learned this truth mostly from all the “controlled burns” in my own life.

I’ve been a wayward pilgrim on the path toward peace. But I have found my heart’s desire.

Jesus still calls us all, daily, whether we believe in him or not:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

Truth be told, it has taken me decades, even as a believer, to understand and embrace this truth.

My hope and prayer are that it won’t take decades for you. But if it does, it’s ok. YOU are OK.

For now, come to Jesus with all your doubts, your fears, your tears, your anger. Don’t be afraid.

Tell him all. Be your true self.

Jesus is good. So very, very good.

And when the “burns” of life come, which they will (John 16:33), the most important thing you can do is this:

Don’t disengage from God.

Don’t disengage from God in the flames of your life. He can handle us—carry us—every what-we-think-is-ugly part of us. As long as we keep seeking truth (John 14:6), we will find, know, and experience God’s love (Matthew 7:7)—our true heart’s desire. And we will come to know—really know—the wisdom and goodness of God who allows all pain. Because a universal truth is this, whether you believe it now or not:

Sometimes what we believe will bury us is actually what will resurrect us.

So start seeking and keep seeking God, no matter what. Talk with him. Scream at him. Be whatever and however you are in the moment with him. Read his truth in his book. And know this:

God gives us his promise to restore us no matter our loss. (Job 8:5-7)

I drove up to the farmhouse ruins today. The foundation’s intact after the wood structure collapsed and became ash.

I don’t know what the owner has planned for the future. But I know that the Owner/Creator of me and you has great plans for a rebuild of me and you—a resurrection, even here in this life.

Believe.

Wait.

And see.

 

1 Peter 1:3-9 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you who by God’s power and being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though is is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.