Will You Burn Bright This Year?

“What’s that?”  My husband turns his head out the window of the rolling car, to find a blue cloth-looking article lying in our driveway.

“I don’t know, we can look at it later.” I suggest.

But his Spirit-prompting wouldn’t settle for ignoring the bluish substance laying where our property is. He turns around. Lifts high something my eyes finally turn and fixate on.

Lifeless, deflated, empty, likely from some celebration the night before, finding refuge after soaring low from the cracks between the Evergreens. 

“How did it get here?  Where did it come from?”  I think of that childhood movie, “Tangled”, and about the confirmation of family Goldilocks got from seeing a thousand of them floating above the castle, the place of her birth-right, before she was captured by the wicked witch.

I can’t drive on.  I ask my husband to please hold it up so I can see what it looks like. He takes his human hand and dashes it up to the sky, watching it fall and deflate like the lifelessness I see around me way too often.

“What a shame”, I start to mourn over some piece of cloth that landed in my yard. “It can’t fly without a flame in it?” I conclude to my husband, part asking and halfway proclaiming.

“That’s right”, he encourages. “There is supposed to be a flame inside that takes it to the sky.”

Finally, we start driving again, still I grieve the loss of this after-though of a celebration laying in our yard.

Driving, my imagination flies to the coast we reside on, the islands, where my daughter is, China where I once was.  And  I can a see a sea of wishful people, possibly a couple, saying a prayer, a wish for the New Year and then letting this lantern go, dreamy-eyed, wishful, into the heavens.

And oh how I long to soar like this emblem; high lifted where birds sing above the Evergreens, looking down upon the dirt I once rested upon, calling to a world below, “Come higher, there is more”.

Still yet, I know the ground well.  The fickle winds that go up, and whip around.  I know the mountains cry, and the tress of life that seam to pull us far below.  And I know, none of us can go anywhere without a fire lit strong someplace deep others don’t know.

And I imagine. the Holy Spirit like that flame rising higher in our soul. Where man tries to hold us low, but where let go of, we too can soar across oceans, farther than anyone might know.  Landing where we least expect.

And when others look to the heavens, they might see us, our tangible material, our skin rising high above the world….yet the faithful of us still know, we are nothing but the carries of the fire of His will alive in us.  And though they look upon our outward vessel, it’s His fire that drives up, propels, and leads us.

And then Tangled, rises again in my mourning.  Head turns staring out the window as wheels drive smooth on mere pavement. And I see a sea of Jesus-people covering the skies. Turning heads to heaven as they look upon the latterns of our Christian lives, rising with fire and wind, in faith leading us in the direction of His will and purposes.

Yet, who of us try to fly high, alone.  Holy Spirit burning deep in our soul, when isn’t it the great multitude, together, resounding a song from heaven what drives lost souls to look where they might not, otherwise.

I think about the loss.  The chance that what once flew high, filled with hope, dreams, and purpose now lay dead, somewhere in my yard.  And who can simply drive away from the loss of settled wounds, fire-less representations, deflated circumstances with very little hope?

And then I remember the Bible, how it talks about ten virgins also with lanterns.  How scripture called them to keep the fire burning throughout the night, having extra oil so that when the Bridegroom comes, they will not find themselves lying in a pile of dirt alone.

Because doesn’t the Bridegroom call to us, those prepared, those He knows, to feast with us….those with oil?

But the five without extra oil found it too late.  Jesus rejected them because they were not “acquainted” with the Fire-Giver long before He came. And who knows the time, the hour, the moment of Jesus’ return?

And who of us can be content, laying in a pile of dirt, slipping through the trees complacently, somewhere thinking God is dead or weak, disappointing or discouraging us….when doesn’t The One calling all lanterns to the heavens constantly beckon us to relationship with the oil burning bright, leading us higher to places we can’t see?

And I want to be that flying lantern, up high, lifting the name of Jesus, don’t you?  Gathering together with believers who fill their lamps with oil too, having their faces turned to heaven, joyfully and expectantly knowing…this isn’t the end of the story.

I rub the material beneath my fingers when we return from our shopping.  “Can we light it again?”  I ask my husband.

“Of course.”  He assured me, even dirt-laden lanterns have opportunity after opportunity to rise high if we intentionally and purposefully light the fire in it again.

“Good. I want to do that.”  I confirm to Him. “I want that”,  I assure Him, more confident of this than anything in my life.