The Word for Writers
A Fire That Cannot Be Put Out
by Barbara Thompson Young
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
You are the Light of the world. You have shined in my heart
and a flame has been ignited in me that cannot be put out.
There have been times when the flame was so weakened by
the storms and typhoons of life, it seemed the fire was gone.
There have been times when the flame grew big like a bon-fire,
fueled by our quiet times of communion together. At those times,
I wanted to shout to the world, “Come! Bring your candles and
your kindling, and I will share this great light with you!”
Many came, some who were so beaten down by the darkness it
seemed their candle wick would never catch fire; but they stayed
around the bon-fire of my heart long enough that their wick began
to burn…dim, at first, but enough to walk away and share their light
with another who walked in total darkness…and as they shared their
light, their own grew brighter.
During the times when the storms of life almost drowned out the
flame in my own heart, the darkness was maddening, suffocating, and
numbing. I did not think I would ever, again, have a light to share.
I did not think I would rise from the ashes of a fire that once was.
It seemed I died, and was truly the walking dead.
But one day when I least expected it, you, in your great goodness
began to blow the breath of your Spirit upon the fading embers of my
heart. And I knew the fire had not gone out. Day-by-day, step-by-step,
moment-by-moment a new me arose from the ash heap of life.
Out of the ashes arose beauty; not my own, but your own beautiful
Spirit rose up within me. You gave me the strength to stand tall, with
my head held high, fully able to face and withstand every obstacle that
threatened to crush me into non-existance.
For mourning over the loss of the old me, you gave me a joyful heart.
Gently, you removed my grave clothes and wrapped your royal
robe of acceptance around my life.
You took my hand and slipped the signet ring of your authority
on my finger, saying, "Now, in my name, you can dispell the darkness."
You gave me a torch called, "The Word of God," admonishing me,
"Hold it high so that all can see."
As if that wasn’t enough, you lay a pair of sandals at my feet,
saying, "Put them on; they have been made especially for you. Wear
them well, and take my peace wherever you go."
Then you continued, “My Daughter, you are now equipped to go forth
and share my Word and give of my Light to all I send you to. At times
the Light will look dim, and at times it will glow brightly, but always
it will be there for you, steady and faithful; available for you to share it’s
warmth and hope to others who walk in dark places.”
Father, I have not been the same since that day. I know it was your
plan all along…that I would be a light bearer for you, declaring your
goodness and your truth to all who will hear. But first you had to burn
much dross of the earth life out of me; and even today, you are still
doing a great refining work in my heart.
May I always be found faithful, going where you say “Go”, speaking
when you say, “Speak;” being silent when you place your gentle hand
on my mouth and say, “Be quiet, and listen.”
But always, always holding up the torch of your words of life, that
someone may see the way to your heart.
Thank you for choosing me, among many, to be a light bearer for you;
I am humbled at the thought. I will never fear the darkness, for you are
my light and you are my salvation. My trust is in you, and you alone.
Your loving Daughter
copyright Barbara Thompson-Young
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Gently, you removed my grave clothes and wrapped your royal robe of acceptance around my life...These words touch my heart. Thanks for this great reminder to keep letting our light shine. God bless you and keep writing for His glory.
WHEW!!!!!!!! That's all I can say! W. Reynolds
Most definitely beauty for ashes and the oil of gladness for mourning... This has got to be one of, if not THE most powerful praises/prayers I have ever witnessed. My spirit bears witness with yours, as though you've spoken the words that lay buried somewhere too deep for me to have uttered them. The Spirit of the Most High is "bubbling" (for lack of a better word) in my belly, rising up in my throat -- those words of blessings and honor and praise that I cannot possibly express... and your communion here with our Lord has done this thing. Bless you! Bless you!
Thank you for the blessing. Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning. He does make beauty of ashes.