In The Fire

I’ve said before that I feel like I’m walking through fire, but lately, it doesn’t just feel like I’m walking through it. It feels like I’m stuck in it. Surrounded. Consumed. Pressed on every side with no way out.

I used to think being “in the fire” was just a metaphor Christian’s threw around when life got hard. But now? I know what it actually feels like. It feels like everything I built my life on is being tested. My faith. My trust. My ability to keep standing when everything in me wants to collapse.

The fire isn’t pretty. It doesn’t fit into scripted church words or Pinterest quotes. It burns. It rips pieces of you off that you thought you couldn’t live without. It exposes raw parts of you that you tried to keep hidden. It hurts in a way that words don’t even cover.

There are nights I cry myself to sleep, wondering if God really sees me here. Wondering if He actually cares that I’m holding on by a thread. And the worst part? Some mornings I wake up and it’s like I didn’t even sleep at all because the weight is still just as heavy, the fire just as hot.

And yet, even in the fire, there’s this stubborn piece of me that refuses to believe it’s meaningless.

I don’t have answers. I don’t know why God allows the furnace to be turned up this high. All I know is that if He isn’t pulling me out, then He has to be with me in it. That’s the only thing that makes sense to me right now.

I think about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego a lot. They didn’t just face the furnace - they were thrown into it. The fire was so hot that the guards who pushed them in were killed instantly. And yet, when the king looked in, he saw not just three men but four. God was there. Right there, in the middle of the flames. They didn’t just survive the flames - they came out without even the smell of smoke on them. The only things the fire destroyed were the ropes that bound them. That has to mean something.

Maybe the fire isn’t where I’ll be destroyed. Maybe it’s where the chains I didn’t even realize I was carrying finally burn off. The chains of needing people to approve of me. The chains of believing I’m only as valuable as others say I am. The chains of fear that keep me quiet when I should be bold, or fearful when I should be trusting. 

I listened to a sermon by Bro Raymond Woodward the other day. He was explaining that when a silversmith is refining silver, the silver is placed in intense fire. The purpose of the fire isn’t to destroy it - it’s to burn away all the impurities. He said the silversmith has to watch it closely, because if he leaves it in too long, the silver will be ruined. But if he pulls it out too soon, the refining won’t be complete.

Do you know how he knows the exact moment it is ready? When he can see his reflection clearly in the silver.

Proverbs 17:3 (MSG)

“As silver in a crucible and gold in a pan, so our lives are refined by God.”

Knowing this, I must choose to believe that these fires are not meant to destroy me but they are meant to refine me. The silversmith can never walk away when the silver is in the fire. In the same way, God isn’t absent from my furnace. His eyes are on me the entire time, making sure the heat doesn’t consume me. That it doesn’t destroy me. The refining is complete when His reflection - His character, His likeness - is seen in my life. It’s in that moment when what was holding me (impurities, wounds, fears, lies) has been burned away, and what remains is pure and radiant.

Some days I hate the fire.

Some days I hate the fact that I’m still in it.

Some days I hate the way it exposes my weakness, my fear, my doubt.

But even on those days, there’s a whisper… This isn’t where you’re destroyed. This is where you’re refined.

And honestly, I don’t know if I believe that every second. I want to. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still question God’s timing. His plan. His silence.

Because the fire doesn’t just test your circumstances. It tests your heart. It forces you to ask, Do I really trust Him? Do I really believe He’s good when nothing around me feels good? Do I really believe He’s faithful when everything looks like He’s forgotten me?

The fire makes you face those questions head on.

So here I am. Raw, bruised, tired, and still in the fire. And if I’m honest, the only thing that keeps me standing is knowing that He hasn’t let me be consumed. I may feel the heat, but I’m still here. I may feel pressed, but I’m not crushed. And maybe that’s the miracle - that I’m still standing at all.

Maybe this fire isn’t the end of me. Maybe it’s the place where the chains I didn’t even know I was carrying finally burn off. Maybe it’s where the false identities, the lies I believed about myself, the people pleasing, the fear of man - all of it - finally falls away.

So no, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have a neat bow to tie this story up with. I just know this: 

The fire isn’t going to last forever. And when it’s over, I won’t come out the same. I can’t. Because fire doesn’t just destroy. It purifies. And when God finally sees his reflection in me, I’ll know the fire was worth it.

And maybe that’s the point.