Around 10:30, I was working on Christmas projects while vegging on the couch. Suddenly, I heard a very loud crackling noise. It sounded like paper crinkling right outside my living room window. I didn't know what it was, but it gave me the impression that it was very close. When I rose to "nonchalantly" investigate, I caught a glimpse of 5-8 foot flames leaping off our compost pile about 30 feet from the house. I ran back to wake Blossom1 and Blossom2, told them to watch their sisters and stay in the house. Then I rushed to the basement to get the hose and nozzle out. I can attest that you really do lose your fine motor skills when you're in a scary situation. I could barely get the hose hooked up and the nozzle on. The flames were high but I figured I'd know pretty quickly if I should call the fire department.
Thankfully, within a few minutes, I had the blaze under control. Like a respectable smartphone owner, I proceeded to snap these few photos. Then, I called the Rugged Mountain Man and chewed him out.
I'm not proud of this. I remember briefly thinking that I could be totally calm about it; it was probably just a mistake. It turned out fine, after all. The sight of leaping flames near our woods really got my heart pounding though, plus an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, right?
The Rugged Mountain Man and I pieced together what happened once I got done giving him a piece of my mind. When we cleaned the ash out of the wood stove, it sat in a metal bucket outside until cool. Then, he dumped it on the compost pile. He explained that the ash hadn't even been warm when he'd dumped it. It was extremely windy that night though. One tiny coal must've ignited.
Because of the excessive wind, I stayed outside for an hour dousing the entire pile with water to ensure it didn't reignite. I checked on the girlies and told them that all was fine. He checked in on me several times via phone, apologizing for the scare.
After the adrenaline calmed down and I stood outside in the windy cold night air, thanking God that He helped me see the fire before it was out of control, I started to feel the poking of the Holy Spirit.
How many times have I made a mistake that could have large repercussions? What about the time I let our two year old climb a high playground ladder without me holding on and she fell backwards, landing us in the ER in another state? Or the time that I ran the tractor into the garden fence? Or the time I backed the truck into a massive concrete retaining wall?
In moments like those, I wanted to be forgiven.
We cannot withhold our own forgiveness and then, expect that same forgiveness to be offered to us in our time of need.
We cannot keep an account of how often we extend forgiveness, thinking that there is a limit to the instances of forgiveness that we can offer before we say "enough is enough."
Our own level of forgiveness affects our Heavenly Father. If we do not offer it, He cannot forgive us. (Mark 11:26) We mistakenly think that withholding forgiveness is a private matter, that it stays in our hearts and it isn't really hurting anyone. How wrong we are!
If at this point, all you can think is how dumb my husband is, you have totally missed why I have shared this with you.
Though I gave into anger initially, the lessons of forgiveness are rippling around inside me this week, sticking with me, prodding me to offer forgiveness quickly and readily. I feel encouraged to forgive, to be gracious, to walk in patience, to be like Father God. It's a little odd that a freak fire is helping me to forgive, but I'm glad God is using it to help me keep "growing up."
Dominique
