Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: FIRE (08/04/22)
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TITLE: Whiter Than the Creamy Inside of a Marshmallow | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tammy Ortung
08/11/22 -
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“You want to use some of this spray?” Sharon asked, holding up a clear, unlabeled spray bottle.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Lavender oil mixed with water.”
“Oh, okay, sure,” I said, willing to try anything.
I usually loved sitting around a campfire, but this site was heavily wooded and as the sun had gone down the pesky insects had multiplied tenfold. I normally avoided nighttime woody excursions, but the grandkids had wanted to hang out with Sharon’s grandkids, so we’d planned a sleepover.
I relaxed in my lawn chair as Sharon distributed roasting forks and marshmallows to each of the nine grandkids. They hurriedly pushed the white cubes onto their roasting forks and scrambled for the best position around the fire.
My seven-year-old granddaughter, Cindy, stood back further than the other children, holding her treats about three feet above the fire.
“Cindy, baby, I’m not sure the heat will melt them all the way up there,” I said. “You might want to hold it closer to the fire.”
“But I don’t want them to get too cooked,” she said, grimacing toward several kids who were blowing profusely on their forks as tiny flames engulfed their previously unblemished marshmallows.
“Well, try to lower the fork a little bit,” I said. She moved it a few inches closer. I sighed. This was going to take a while.
Several kids already sat gorging on their first round of s’mores. Others waited in an assembly line while Sharon sandwiched the marshmallows between two graham crackers lined with chocolate, pulled them off the forks and handed each treat to its respective child.
I swatted at another mosquito as Cindy and one of the boys—the thirteen-year-old, I think—still held forks over the flames. Impatient, the boy finally plunged his fork so close to the flames that it immediately blistered and then caught on fire. He ruined it, I thought. But he waited, not blowing out the flames until the entire shell was completely blackened, then he reached up, gently pulled off the crusty exterior and plopped it in his mouth—yuck! I barely caught a glimpse of the glossy white interior before he plunged the fork back into the fire.
I long to be like the inside of that marshmallow, but more often than not, I feel more like its black, crusty outside, marked by the hot sticky mess of my past, and sometimes my failures of the present. Yet just like David cried out to God after Nathan chastised him for his affair with Bathsheba, I often cry out for God’s mercy. I also know that it is against God I sin and only He can purify me.
I desire to be holy, but every moment I spend in this fallen world is a challenge. Like Paul, I don’t do what I should, instead I do what I don’t want to do. I dabble in sins of omission, some days too self-absorbed to spend time in prayer or Bible reading. Yet, when I cry out to God, he continually purifies me, and washes me whiter than snow—whiter than the creamy inside of that marshmallow. (Psalm 51: 7 NLT paraphrased)
Cindy’s squeal drew my mind back to the present. I noticed her marshmallows drooping precariously.
“Ooohhh, watch it, Cindy,” I said, stating the obvious. “Looks like they’re going to melt right off your fork. Take it to Sharon and she’ll build your s’more.” “Hurry now.”
Sharon held out the graham crackers and chocolate just as she had for the other kids, pulled them off the fork and handed it to Cindy.
For a few precious moments, the circle quieted as the children busily chomped on their gooey treats—even the mosquitos seemed to take a break—but before long, marshmallows were reloaded and the children chatted excitedly as they roasted their second batch.
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