The parched, cracked ground crumbles under your feet, the oppressive silence of a place that used to be filled with noise, the dry ash covers everything, and the taste fills your mouth with dry, cakey powder. Forest fires leave a scar.
But not all fires are accidents, and some are done with the good of the forest in mind. Someone who knows the forest well can see what isn’t apparent, that it is in danger, and that something has to be done before a catastrophe happens. This fire is an intentional choice to prepare a section of a wood, dig protective lines, and scorch the area within. There’s a purpose behind the practice: to rescue the rest of the forest.
The difference between arson and forestry is understanding and intention; one is an act of severity that leads to destruction, and the other is an act of severity that brings about rescue. We cannot determine which from the center of the blaze: ashes will always choke; the silence will always deafen.
The only way to know whether you are experiencing disaster or rescue is to know the one who started the fire.
When Joseph tells his brothers to bring their families to Egypt, famine was the worst thing he saw happening to them. Hundreds of years later, the descendants of Israel’s family are trapped, slaves for Pharaoh. Generation after generation of families, being born, growing old, and dying as property of the king of Egypt.
The story of Abraham is passed down from parents to children, like a faded old photograph that you can’t see clearly anymore. There are no plagues, there’s no pillar of fire, the Red Sea is unbroken and uncrossed. There is no escape for the Israelites, and there’s no reason to expect their captivity to end.
Generations pass, each experiencing the silence of God, waiting and wondering if there would be a time when the promises of God to their forefathers would ever be true.
Is the promise of God still true? Do you still trust Him if you were living in the silence since Joseph?
For the Israelites, the one who could end their captivity has waited. He has heard them, He has seen them, and He has waited until the right time to bring about their rescue. Had he acted too soon, the people of Israel would be too small to be a nation; had He waited too long, we would see where Pharaoh’s fear of this people would lead. One generation of Israelite boys has already been lost. What might happen the next time he is afraid? God brings the people of Israel out from Egypt at just the right time. We jump from slavery to salvation so quickly, but the people living in those spaces between the lines don’t have that luxury.
Pharaoh has a plan for the Israelites too, but it isn’t for their rescue. He intends to keep them as his property. Their lives matter to him only as long as they are useful. He is willing to burn them to cinders just to keep them under his control —
he doesn’t want Israel rescued, he wants Israel consumed, until there is nothing left but ashes that drift away in the wind.
So what do I do while I am in my own Egypt? What can I look to when my life is being overwhelmed and all I can see are ashes? I can choose to believe that the destruction is all there is. That there is no purpose in it and that it is up to me alone to escape it.
There’s another path though, the one that doesn’t let the pharaohs of life have the last word. This path requires a radical trust that there is One who is able to bring good from what others have meant for harm. That His timing and rescue will be at the right moment, even if I don’t know what that looks like.
I will wait for the good to come, and look to the horizon. I trust that the Master Gardener knows how and when to end the blaze.