I used to be delighted around fire.
Blowing out candy-colored candles,
On carefully crafted cakes,
And I watched as year by year they increased.

I used to be fascinated by fire.
Eyes as bright as the flames I glared at,
Sat in my parents’ bathroom, with my parents’ lighter.
Burning pieces of tissue until the paper was nearly consumed.

I used to be afraid of fire.
Sparks danced and leapt beside our home,
Turning grass into ash, flowers into embers.
3 in the morning could’ve ended up in mourning

I used to be on fire.
Passionate and determined for all the wrong reasons,
And the world doused me in its cold, unforgiving water,
Too damp to light, too late to recover.

I was drawn to temptation like a moth to the flame,
But the fire only singed my wings,
And though the flames made me feel pain,
At least I was feeling something.

I was a charred and hopeless pile of nothing,
Smoke slowly rising from the blaze I could’ve been,
Ashes as dark and blackened as my heart,
Abandoned and pitiful like a used campfire in the woods.

Then I heard the scratch of a match,
The rubbing of rocks,
The scraping of sticks,
And then the crackle of a new and growing fire.

Someone had set me ablaze once again.
Fanning my flames even though He was scorching his fingers,
Made sure I was flourishing, made sure I never went out,
Until I grew bigger and brighter than I had ever been.

I am on fire once again, but only for the One who lit my flames,
Glowing and burning for His glory.
Hoping that one day my embers would spread far and wide enough.
To be able enough to ignite for Him, someone else’s ashes.