Fire hurts...

As long as I can remember, I have loved the analogy of being clay in a potter's hands. I love the feeling of the Master's hands gently pulling me or pushing me.  Sure, sometimes I cannot see what I am supposed to be-- I look more like a blob than anything right now but hey, I have trust that the Potter knows. He knows what he wants me to be and all that pushing and prodding is worthwhile.  Occasionally, he has to wet me down to keep me soft but for the most part, I've done pretty well at moving when he pushes.


Contrast that with the image of the "refiner's fire".  Ugh. This analogy makes me uncomfortable.  Hot temperatures beyond comprehension; a sweaty, dirty man adding more coals to the pit; steam, flames of yellow and red.... seriously, not a pretty picture. I don't care if it can turn a coal into a diamond or whatever the analogy was, I'll stick to my clay.  Molding clay does not hurt, walking through fire does. 

This might take a little patience on your part but I would love to tell you how I got here,n writing a blog post about the "refiner's fire" or being clay... and it's kind of a long story, but worth the read (I promise).


I have a confession..... I wear hearing aids.  So I was trying to find a picture where you can see them good; this is the best I could find. (And please, who doesn't want to see a picture of me at 13 years old?) In fact, I have had hearing aids since the 3rd grade.  The only thing I remember when I got them was having my teacher talk about it in class; my mother bought my sister and I books about sign language and one about a girl who had hearing aids... I think it was supposed to make us feel okay with being different.  Needless to say, I don't really remember not having hearing aids and yet... I never identified myself as being hearing impaired.  I rarely  thought about the fact that I wore hearing aids.  Maybe this was because I couldn't remember life without them. It was a fact like the sun rises each day.  Something that is and always will be.

In fact, I was so far removed from this identity that it would literally irk me when people called me that.... "hearing impaired".  I saw it as an insult, somehow undermining my strength or my humanity (to be somewhat dramatic).  I hate how on some DVDs, when you go to put on English subtitles it says "English for the Hearing Impaired". I almost wouldn't put on subtitles in rebellion to that "derogatory" term.

Denial was my greatest coping mechanism.  When denial wasn't an option because someone pointed out that there was something in my ear; I simply replied, nonchalantly, "oh my ears are broken and these help me hear".  They would drop the matter after that.  I even tried making a joke about it-- I have been known to say "Well, you see, I'm just SO perfect God had to make something wrong with me to keep me humble... ya know?"  Yeah, even if that was God's plan, it didn't work-- I am far from humble.

It has now been almost two months since that fateful day after rafting the Nile River when I went to put my "ears", as I humorously nicknamed them, back in and one of them would not turn on. To make matters worse, the other aid only worked at around 30%. I remember when we finally got home, I went into my bedroom and just cried.  I couldn't help it.  For the second time this summer I was thrown face to face with a reality I had not only escaping for 16 years but a reality I thought was still five, ten years down the road.  That reality was.... My ears ARE broken, I AM hearing impaired, and it is NOT going to get better.

I cannot even begin to tell you all the thoughts that ran through my mind that night and every night since then.  But, I do want to share with you a few because like it or not, we will all have to pass through the refiner's fire at some point in our lives.  It might hit you unexpected, like it did me but when you are in it, there is nowhere to go but forward.  You cannot turn back, you've already been burned.

They say that once Satan pulls you down, he will never join you for the fall. He is more than willing to build up your pride, to keep your stubborn, to even entice you with a rewarding future but the second God places you in the refiner's fire, Satan bolts for the emergency exit.  I think that is why the refiner's fire was so hard for me at first.  All the things I relied on most to get me through my hearing impairment-- pride, stubbornness and a"dream big" attitude evaporated in the first burst of flames.  My pride couldn't do much when suddenly I was completely and utterly dependent on others to translate conversations, answer my phone, etc; my stubbornness only isolated me more because I was unwilling to admit I was anything less than strong, independent; and my "dream big" attitude was crushed in the reality that I could never change the world when I couldn't hear it.

So there I was, barely in this fire when I fell. I landed on my knees, with my head hung low in my hands. Luckily, unlike my life-long imagery of this ruthless refiner's fire, God doesn't leave you kneeling for long.  He offers you a sip of cool water and points you in the right direction.  He might offer some loving words by reminding you who you are and that despite what you think, you can get through this. He puts people in your path who are willing to walk through the fire with you-- even if for a brief moment.  These are friends and family who are willing to be patient with the big things and who rejoice in the small things.  They are the ancient and modern Prophets who speak inspiring words. But like I mentioned, they can only walk part of the way with you because this is not their fire to walk through.


There is one person, however, who will walk with you the whole way.  He will walk in silence when you just need to cry.  He will hold your hand when you need the strength.  He will kindly listen to you tell some pointless story while you sit on a bench, resting till you have the determination to walk through the next set of flames.  His name is Jesus Christ.  Now, I know that not everyone who reads this blog believes in Christ.  I'm not here to tell you to, I'm simply here to tell you that right now, He is the only one I know that is beside me every step of the way.  The refiner's fire is when you must put to the test everything you say you believe.  I have known Jesus Christ was the Son of God for about as long as I can remember... and I have said it to people too but now, when it really counts, can I trust it? Do I have faith enough?  Some days I do, some days I don't.  I like to think on the days I don't, that is when He is holding my hand.

So that is my story.  As of yet I'm still here, walking through this refiner's fire.  I'm trying to get my hearing back to where it was with the help of new hearing aids (though I'm growing more comfortable with the likelihood that my hearing will never get back to where it was before without a cochlear implant).  I attempt to talk with people on the phone-- sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail.  My future still seems unclear but luckily, my God is a painter who has shown me a few pictures of what life will be like after this fire clears.  And those who have walked with me for a mile or two? I'm not sure they will ever know just how grateful I am for I never would've made it this far without them.