Colorful Flames.

I once believed my sister had magic powder hidden somewhere in our livingroom. Each time we made a fire, she would have me close my eyes and then tell me to open them where I would see an assortment of colors in the flames. When she was not around, I searched the livingroom for her private stash of powder, but never found it. Only years later did I learn that when my eyes were closed she put the comics on the fire.

I was reminded of that this morning as I sat and watched my morning fire begin. I treasure the hours before others awaken, when I have time to myself to pray and reflect. It is during that time I read all sorts of books and try to grow spiritually.  For me, much of my spiritual growth is as much about unlearning as it is learning. Everything I learned about God came from my childhood. At the time, it was an understanding that was age-appropriate: God was looking down, with arms crossed watching me. I was told he loved me, that His son died for me, but there he stood watching to see how I performed. I believed God could do anything, and still do, but in too many ways God was in the image of Santa, able to care for the world and provide every sort of wonder and joy.

In recent years, I have studied and awakened to the nature of God. In no way do I believe I’ve figured things out, but each morning I seek to open my eyes and heart and appreciate the nature of faith. I have put away thoughts of magic powder, but the flames dance in colors all the same, and that’s this morning’s gift.