All the Noise and Fire

Are you worn out with all the noise?

The cacophonous clamor for your attention can be draining. 

It seems everyone has an opinion or offer for you these days where perspective dictates it’s the loudest or most persistent sales pitch that wins. 

Fire sells!

Just hop on social media to take a walk-through pitched tents where hustle is hot and Kool-Aid fills cups. A farmer’s market awaits, where your void can be filled, your needs can be met, your provision can happen, and by the very one that can.

Every niche can be accessed with a coach for every consumer. There is always a fire burning.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.

Absolutely exhausted.

Whether you are the coach that’s bought into the vernacular, or you are the client responding to the overwhelm, you might be feeling a systems crash coming on. It’s all a lot. 

Am I wrong?

Sensory overload is a thing.

Lately, I’ve felt the need to stay quiet. NOT that I am one predisposed to doing so on a regular basis. It’s just that for the last sixth months or so, I’ve needed to process more than I’ve needed to pontificate. To sigh more than speak.

To roast a few marshmallows over my dwindling coals.

I’ve needed to stop talking so I could start listening to God better. To stop working so hard so I could sit at his feet. To close my mouth so his voice would soothe me. To relax enough to even let him run his fingers through my smokey, camp fire hair. 

Does this resonate with anyone?

No matter what we do for a living, it seems we now live in a world where pressure to interact can be all-consuming. Marketing is everything, and most unfortunately, it’s personal. What most of us feel obligated to market these days is ourselves. That requires a consuming fire!

And aesthetic.


Sometimes I wonder.

Honestly, I’ve needed some time away by the proverbial Brook Cherith. Like Elijah during a horrific drought, I’ve needed solitude with God where I could hear his voice and receive his sustenance.

No one else’s.

A place where I could contemplate what I was trying to set fire to.

For those of you who know the story of Elijah in I Kings, you know the prophet believed in God’s ability to enflame an altar without human assistance. An altar drenched in water and surrounded by a moat. It seemed impossible. As the Baal and Asherah worshippers gashed themselves bloody in appeals to evil for their flames, Elijah appealed to the One who could make his fire ignite.

It came from heaven.

Not from human hands.

Not a wisp of smoke from the other so-called gods.

So, what are we desperately trying to make happen for ourselves that requires the REAL God’s fire from heaven?

What are we attempting to ignite with our own flimsy flint?

Asking myself this question, and repeatedly, allows me to avoid the temptation to step into the race for fire. It allows me to forgive myself. I can then take a step back to enjoy the process of convening with God. Away from the strong winds and earthquakes and fires to hear his whisper to me.

He’s the One I want to hear from.

He’s the One I take direction from.

Thus, I don’t have any wisdom for you, other than this:

Take the time to hear God. Make listening to him and waiting on him a priority.

If something is to be ignited for the glory of God, well then, I guess we can all be comfortably confident he’ll send down the fire for us. 

Let’s confidently wait for it, striving to hear the still, small voice that tells us when to sit by the brook alone, and when to stand in anticipation of the fire.

It’s coming.

In the meanwhile, I plan to cup my hands with cold water and drink. After all, there’s a brook here, and it’s enough to sustain me until the sky explodes again.

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