Tag Archives: flames

Coward

Coward: (n) a person lacking courage

As I stood outside, I stared at a roaring fire ablaze at the motel where I was staying. Though nearly fifty yards from the direct heat of the flames, I was still terrified—frightened to move, my hands shaking.

There is an astronomical difference between considering bravery and bravely considering. I would never have imagined that the lifeforce and anger of fire could be so petrifying.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I was motionless.

I did not go inside to get my personal belongings. But I wondered if I could have mustered enough courage to run in and retrieve a family member left behind. Or, in that moment when I was looking to the right and left to see if there was anyone better qualified or willing to assist, would I have squandered the tiny window of opportunity and end up looking like a coward?

Where do we cross the line between valuing our lives and clutching them? Is there a point where we would be willing die that someone or something else could live?

I don’t know.

In the midst of that motel fire, I comforted many people, and fought off the urge to scream. I realized that the difference between being brave and becoming a coward may simply lie in deciding not to run away.

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Cinder

Cinder: (n) a small piece of partly burned coal or wood that has stopped giving off flames

I really did not want to complain, even though I was quite capable of doing so.

After all, I was just a kid. If you tell a kid he’s complaining, he’ll explain that you never listen to him, and he’s “sharing his feelings” as you snuff them.

Here’s my story:

One day at church camp one of the more energetic counselors decided we should take a hike through the woods. He had sought out a trail and measured it at 1.2
 miles. His contention was that “anybody should be able to do that.”

I apparently had not joined the “anybody family”–not even related. I had chubby legs that moved slower, reluctant to leave space between my sole and the ground.

On top of that, we could not have been more than twenty yards into the trip when my right foot started to hurt. I apparently was grimacing in some pain, because the zealous counselor came back and told me I needed to step up the pace–otherwise there was a danger the other kids would start making fun of me, and even though he would hate for me to be bullied, he did not know what would happen once the lights went out in the cabins.

Not knowing what that meant but sufficiently alarmed, I soldiered on. Every step hurt.

When we finally arrived at camp after the 1.2 miles, I had broken out in a sweat, was ready to pee my pants and fell to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.

I reached down, took off my sneaker (which is what we called them back then) and a tiny pebble-like substance fell out of my shoe. Apparently the night before, when we were sitting around the campfire and I removed my shoes to warm my feet by the flames, I had acquired a cinder in my footwear.

I had walked 1.2 miles on that cinder, leaving a sore spot which upon further inspection, was bleeding.

I did not try to make anyone feel bad, but the counselor did that all on his own.

All I remember is that I was required to put my foot up on a pillow during Vespers and the counselor, who was dwelling in a wilderness of guilt, toasted all my marshmallows and brought them to me. (He got a little grumpy when I complained they were not cooked all the way through, but got over it.)

Even today I have to remind myself that people who have a crooked walk, or have difficulty being what I would consider “righteous,” may be overcoming cinders of burnt-out experiences that I can’t even imagine.

 

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Burn

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Burn: (v) to flame while consuming

Snakes and fire.

I believe these two are natural enemies of all humankind.

I’ve always been afraid of snakes, without shame. But I realized my apprehension about fire when I found myself staying at a cheap motel called “The California.”(Yes, welcome to the Motel California…)

I was there with my family and we were occupying a room in the front corner near the office. One afternoon, we were half asleep, watching television, when there was a knock at the door. The manager was informing everyone that there was a fire.

I stepped outside, couldn’t see anything, but decided it was a good idea to get my family and some of our belongings out of the room, load them into the van and move the vehicle away from the property, just in case.

We gathered with the other patrons of the motel in the parking lot, when all at once the second floor, as if on cue, burst into flames. It was so sudden that everyone gasped. In unison, we moved back about twenty paces.

The heat was intense, the smell stung our nostrils. and our natural fear kept pushing us all further and further from the inferno.

It wasn’t a large motel, so by the time the fire trucks arrived, the entire establishment was engulfed in flames–except for the lower level near the office.

The firemen told us it would be many hours before we would be able to get back in to retrieve any belongings that might remain, so we went out to visit some friends and took advantage of a free motel room offered by a kind establishment down the road.

Over breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. I didn’t know what was wrong. But now I realize that I was completely terrified by the experience, and horrified by what might have happened.

An hour or two later, when we returned to the burned-out shell of the motel, we found that our room was intact, and that our belongings were a little damp, but able to be retrieved.

I don’t ever want to burn.

I guess the worst scenario for me would be to die in a fire while being bitten by snakes.

 

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Arson

Arson: (n) the criminal act of deliberately setting fire to property.dictionary with letter A

When the original writers of the Good Book sat down and tried to describe hell in a way that would be frightening to their readers, they chose fire.

It was an extremely effective marketing tool, because in that day and age, most people handled fire, saw fire, warmed by it, and probably knew somebody who had died in one.

Nowadays, we don’t necessarily deal with fire. We might catch a glimpse of one on television, but the true impact, heat and destruction of this force never registers in our consciousness unless we are up-close and personal.

Many years ago I was staying in a motel–a rather dilapidated institution which might have had former days of glory, although no immediate evidence of that luxury was prevalent in any of the rooms.

To make a long story short, one of my afternoon naps was interrupted by a frantic knock on the door, informing me that we had to exit immediately because the place was on fire.

I stepped out of the room and walked into the parking lot. Sure enough, just above us, on the second floor, whipping flames were escaping out of a door.

I gathered the family together quickly, grabbing the few things we could not live without. We climbed into our vehicle and had the foresight to pull out of the parking lot and move several buildings away, so that when the fire trucks arrived, we could escape with our car intact, free of damage.

There are three things I remember about that day.

My sons wanted to go take a look at the fire, so we headed back towards the burning motel. We soon realized that we could not get within fifty yards of it without being overcome by the heart and woozy from the smoke. Watching the firemen go in and out, trying to contain the blaze, was baffling and inspiring.

The second thing I remember was how shocked I was to discover that the fire was set by the owner to get rid of the property. It was an arson. Unfortunately, he did not realize that the room next to the place where he ignited his crime was occupied by an old man who was unable to get out, and died.

The whole time I was thinking about the phrase, “Don’t play with fire.”

That day I realized why: fire has neither respect nor honors boundaries.

In no time at all, the entire second floor of this motel was engulfed in flames, and we were very fortunate that evening, when everything had calmed down, to return to our room and retrieve our belongings.

The third and final thing I remember about that arson happened the next morning.

Sitting over breakfast and far away from those flames, the horror of the inferno returned to my mind, and I started to shake uncontrollably.

It was terrifying.

It was like I was possessed by a spasm which refused to relent. It took most of the morning for me to calm down.

I do not know if there’s a hell, but I will tell you…if it contains any fire, it should give us the shakes.

 

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