I will always remember the fireplace in my parents' basement.


Washington winters are dark and cold. Sometimes it feels like the sun never actually rises before it starts setting at three o'clock in the afternoon. The mornings are pitch black and icy frost covers the windshield as you leave for work. On these winter mornings I would shuffle from my bed in the freezing basement and walk out to the rec room. Thankfully, my parents had installed a gas fireplace on both floors of their home, so I would click the fire on and crumple into a heap on the floor in front of it. This is where I spent my minute with God. I would pray, put my Bible on my lap and read, and then pray again. I would ask for God's mercy. I would confess sin. I would ask Him to make Himself big and real and important to my heart. 

And you know what? He did.

It didn't happen right away, but over a number of months. Every day, I would curl up in front of the fire and ask God to reveal Himself to me. I would read the Bible and pray and wait and hope. By the time those summer months rolled around and I no longer needed the warmth of the fire, I knew God as I had never known Him before. For the first time, my heart began to understand the depth of my sin, the incredible sacrifice of Christ, and the utter love of the Father toward me through His Son. I continued to turn on the fire anyway during these summer days, because this time with the Lord had become so sacred to me. One minute had turned to many more, and on most mornings I would spend 20 minutes or so reading the Word and praying.