Fire

Don't play with fire; you'll get burned.
    That's what came to mind this morning, after my housemate's dog woke me up at 2:30 A.M. (again), and by 3:21 I gave up trying to go back to sleep at watched characters on a computer screen challenge evil and champion good. I watched them say love was indestructible; I watched from 3:30 - 6:30. I finished the 13 episodes of the show I'd fallen in love with, last week or the week before.
   I gave addiction three hours to set in.
   I played with fire.
   I sat down to pray before devotions this morning, and wondered why I felt so afraid. I felt afraid, not of God, for I do not think I disobeyed, nor of the power of the addiction, for He had already won this war Wednesday night, Thursday night, and Wednesday afternoon. Three battles, all victories; He answered those prayers.
   I felt afraid of the coming day. I had loved watching this story and playing with it in my imagination, but work starts in half an hour, and I crack inside at the idea of leaving my world, a world that has joy and heart. I realized that I fear the world after having fun now, because the world seems to be anything but fun. It hurts; and hurt birthed endurance, but joy birthed fear, for when I have joy, I have something to lose. More fearful still, I have something I may be asked to give up.
   I swore to God I would follow where He led, that I would not turn back, later, that I would not say no. When He asks for something, anything, either through circumstances or through my knowledge of my duty, I must give it up.
   Giving things up breaks me; having things that I love sets my heart on fire. That fire can consume my promises, my will, my time, and myself, and the more I play with the thing I love the more I feed the flames.
   But it shouldn't be that way. Eden was joy unshadowed, love without sin, passion unrestrained because there was nothing to restrain. Love God so much that anything else cannot compare to that love, and you may love everything else even more than you did before.
    So I asked, in devotions, not that I would stop playing with fire, but that the fire would a crucible that molded me into God's image, a warmth that spread to friends and family, a light that guided people to God, His light reflected back towards the world and to Him. I ask that I can hold all I love out to Him, willingly letting Him do as He will, but also that I would continue to love and to enjoy all good things, praising Him in that love, alive, warm, and filled with light as I enjoy the blessings coming from His hand. For the knowledge that something is from God can direct my gaze back to the Giver, and from His hand even fire is a blessing. If it burns, it burns away the worthless; it leaves everything that is good behind.
    I want no other flame; I need no other fire.