Stepping into the fiery furnace and praying to God you don't get burned

"Don't play with fire, baby." These are the words of advice my mother offered me as I edged my way to the brink of tears at our kitchen table.

"I won't" was the only response I could bring myself to breathily expel.

And I meant it. I think.

I've grown weary of getting burned. I've poked the same fire far too many times to go back again. But yet, there's a reason I've always been drawn back to that same flame. There's history there. There's a story I've told a million times; a story that I'm still not sure is actually over. It's a story I'm still trying to make sense of. It's shiny, unfinished, and something that once held a great sense of hope for me; all characteristics that have always attracted my attention.

But this fire that I've played with time and time again has only ever left me exhausted, lost, and empty, and increasingly so with every visit. I've had enough time to at least wrap my mind around that much. I've obtained enough wisdom through my foolish mistakes to know that the dangers brought about by toying with this fire vastly overshadow the intrigue that may or may not still remain there.

Even so, sometimes facing your demons requires diving into treacherous waters and jumping through rings of fire.

So it would seem that I'm left to choose between fearlessly taking on those demons, barreling headfirst into the battlefield, or letting the broken pieces lay exactly as they fell, scattered and reckless, and accepting that what's done is done.

Eighteen-year-old me would take the first option. That little girl with the giant chip on her shoulder and the nerve to chase tempestuous storms, laughing all the while, would dive head first into the heart of the fire without a moment of hesitation.

Twenty-one-year-old me is a much different woman, however. She's been tossed about by a storm or two in the last few years. She's a little bit wiser. She knows better. That doesn't mean that she's any more fearful of fire, but she's very much aware of the fine line between being fearless and being foolish.

Proverbs 26:11 says, "As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly." When I first heard this verse, I thought it to be needlessly vulgar. In time, however, I realized how accurate a depiction this truly is of someone who repeatedly commits the same mistake.

Then I realized that this is an unfortunately perfect picture of myself.

I'm a creature of habit, and therefore tend to return to that which I know, even if I know it isn't good for me.

Fortunately, by His mercy, God has delivered me from my own reckless ways each time I have found myself in the midst of a raging fire. Up until now, I have taken advantage of this fact. I have become too comfortable in the mindset that God will bail me out of every bind I stupidly get myself into. Just because I know He will always be there and will forgive me daily for my foolishness, that doesn't mean that I should stop trying to be blameless and someone worthy of that kind of forgiveness.

He has delivered me from the very fire I speak of now more times than I probably realize. He has done this for a reason, because this is what He has designed for me. His desire is for me to be free of this. So, why on earth would I go back to what He has so deliberately lead me away from? And more importantly, why would I want to?

Eighteen-year-old me didn't have the sense to ask these questions. Luckily, twenty-one-year-old me does.

Sometimes, God's plan calls for us to fight our way through a fire. Sometimes it calls for us to shut the door, walk away, and allow the fire to burn out on its own. Because, sometimes, the strongest thing we can do is walk away. Fearlessness doesn't always require us to fight the war. Sometimes, to be truly fearless, we must have the courage to admit that the battle isn't worth fighting, and it certainly isn't worth playing with. This is one of those times. This time, I won't.