Growing up with camping and a lot of outdoor play (and being a troublemaking boy), I have always loved fires. When I met my wife, her passion for tending fires inside and out drew me closer immediately. As we started a family and the boys approached school age, we sat at our fire pan and discussed the possibility of homeschooling. Soon that turned to discussions of all the things we were doing wrong. Yet, through all the mistakes, we saw the horizon becoming clearer. The potential of what we were attempting changed us. “Unschooling” and “deschooling” became the next wild topics around the fire after the boys were in bed. The ground under our assumptions start to shift; our parenting changed, our politics changed, we became Christians, and our priorities narrowed in focus.
Mary passed away during this process, five months after we were baptized into Christ’s arms. I got a cord of firewood delivered to the house during her short hospital stay. I still don’t know why. Irrational hope? A grasp at normalcy? Making the first declaration about things that would not change?
What I do know is that fire is magical. I remember Mary in every fire. There’s nothing more dynamic and active, yet calming. We were like that too. I was the flickering flames jumping about and she was the glowing embers, moving around the wood with relaxed intention.
Thank you for letting me share my memories with you. Have a blessed day.
