What's missing?

I attended a luau last Friday night, the capstone of which included a bonfire. I love fire. Summer, winter, fall or spring, I love fire. Indoor, outdoor or both; it doesn't matter.

Friday night it had started to turn cool after the sun went down, and I was drawn to the fire like the moth that I am. I could have curled up on my blanket and stayed all night--ignoring everyone and just enjoying its flame, its warmth, and its beauty.

No two fires are ever the same. They are all a beautiful dance of the chemical oxidation of a fuel with an associated flame. But the flames can be blue, orange, red or white. The fuel can be wood, gas, or wax. The only similarity for me is--Bunsen burner or bonfire--I am attracted to the flame.

I spent a lot of time at the bonfire Friday night. As long as I stayed close, it didn't matter that the night was cold. I wondered if I moved twenty feet away would I be as comfortable. What about thirty? or forty? The shorts and t-shirt that were appropriate attire at 5:00 p.m. were now inadequate for the evening chill, but as long as I stayed close to the fire, it didn't matter.

Wednesday night I attended my first Campus Church meeting this semester (The quip "Better late than never" comes to mind.). Most of the songs were new--new at least to me. I enjoy the Campus Praise Band, so it didn't matter; I didn't need to know the words because I was enjoying the lights, music, smoke, and singing. But then the music program changed. The loud and rowdy became a single repetitive chord from the piano, and I knew the song immediately. It was Everything by Tim Hughes.

Not recently, but in the past six months I have used the words from that very song as a prayer for my working, living, laughing, and playing. Not recently, but in the past six months, it would strum in my head throughout the ordinary and mundane day to remind me: God in my thinking . . . There in my breathing . . . God in my hurting . . . God in my healing.

It's like loving the bonfire, seeing the bonfire, and dying from hypothermia fifty feet away. What's missing? Everything.