My family has gone old school. We are building real fires with real wood in a real fireplace. If you are under the age of 30, you probably don’t know what I am talking about. Several years ago, Sandra said that she was cold. Being the romantic that I am, I said, “Let me build a fire for you” and I flipped a switch and turned on the gas logs. Presto! Now the effort to build a fire is much greater; wood must be cut and gathered (or at least purchased in bundles at the grocery store), it has to be carried in, arranged in the fireplace and a prayer said that the wood will burn, not to mention the constant care to keep it going. Then every now and then, the ashes must be cleaned out. But the payoff is higher also. I love the aroma and look of a real fire, especially the awesome picture perfect ones and maybe I like the reward of enjoying the fire knowing that I built it.
The other morning I mentioned to Sandra that I need to get some more firewood. She responded, “There’s firewood out in the yard. You need to get it up. It looks horrible.” I looked out the window and asked, “What firewood?” She pointed out in the yard and said, “Right out there.” To which I answered, “That’s not firewood. That’s a tree. It’s not firewood until I cut it up.” A storm a few weeks ago had blown over a dead tree and since I’m not real handy with a chainsaw, it’s still lying there. But I think God wanted it stay there so that He could give me a great illustration with this story.
As Christians, we accept the free gift of salvation and are saved, but we are not disciples until we start doing what Jesus has told us to do.