When God sits by the Fire

Today, a dear friend shared something on social media with me. It’s a well-known sermon illustration tied to Malachi 3:3: “He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver…”

To better understand these words, a woman visits a silversmith to understand how silver is refined. The smith explains that the silver must be held in the center of the fire — right where it’s hottest — to burn away all impurities. He sits and watches the process closely, never leaving, because if the silver is left in the fire even a moment too long, it will be ruined.

When asked how he knows when the silver is fully refined, the silversmith replies: “When I can see my image in it.”

I sat with this for a while and then wondered… Does God allow us to go through suffering, pain, and loss to refine us — until His image is reflected in us?

Because if you’ve lived a little, you know life doesn’t leave us untouched. Over the years, we gather experience, opinions, patterns, pride. We learn how to survive, how to stand on our own two feet. We become self-reliant, efficient, even impressive. But in the process, we can also become distant — layered, defended, weighed down.

The world taints us. It influences our thinking, our values, our pace. It teaches us to strive, to perform, to compete, to prove ourselves. And slowly, we begin to draw away from what really matters. For many of us, our faith becomes a duty instead of a relationship, because we support the world’s systems without even realizing we’ve stopped seeking God’s ways.

Then life interrupts. A loss. A crisis. An illness. Something shatters, and suddenly, the scaffolding we built our lives on crumbles — and we’re left standing in the heat of it all, wondering: Is this the refining fire?

And maybe it is. Because when we go through hardship, something happens: We are often stripped of our pride, ego, and the illusions of self-sufficiency.

Our attachments to worldly things — status, wealth, reputation, even our well-worn beliefs — are exposed as fragile.

Our inner life comes to the surface: our faith, our fears, our identity, our capacity to love.

It’s with this stripping away that we can become more open to faith, love, compassion, humility, mercy, and dependence on God.

Romans 8:29 puts it plainly: "For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son..."

That’s the refining process. That’s what all the fire is for.

Not to destroy us, but to conform us to the image of Christ. Not suffering for suffering’s sake, but transformation through surrender. A becoming. A revealing. Until one day, when God looks at us, He sees something familiar. His reflection.

And that makes the fire, while still painful, not pointless.

So if today feels hot… if you feel pressed, stripped, broken, exposed… remember your Silversmith. He sits by the fire. He watches. He never leaves. Because you matter too much to be left unattended.

And He knows the moment your heart starts to reflect His own.

Find a quiet moment today and ask:

Is there something God may be refining in me — not to harm me, but to bring something deeper to the surface?

Let that question sit with you in the stillness.

 

Tolerate and be Tolerated

You’ve probably heard something like this before:

• “Don’t talk about so-and-so in front of me.”

• “I don’t want to hear anything that questions my beliefs.”

• “You can’t say that—it’s offensive.” 

We all have lines we don’t want crossed. That’s fair. Boundaries are important. But lately, it feels like personal preferences have become public commandments. Not just “please respect my space,” but “you’re a bad person if you don’t agree with my rules.” 

I can’t help but think: Is this what the Pharisees did? 

In religious texts, the Pharisees were the people who added layers and layers of rules, turning something meant to be freeing into something heavy and exhausting. They were more focused on keeping people in line than actually helping anyone. 

I’m not saying people today are quoting scripture at each other, but we do something similar. We throw rules into the room like grenades: 

• Don’t bring up that politician.

• Don’t question this narrative.

• Don’t say anything that makes me uncomfortable.

And when we do, we’re shunned. Cancelled. Labelled. Branded. 

What happened to live and let live?

Real tolerance isn’t agreeing with everyone. It’s not pretending we all think the same. It’s letting people be—even if they’re wrong, even if they push your buttons, even if they make you pause and think. 

We’re losing that. We’re replacing it with a culture where everyone has to tiptoe, where people talk in code, and where a single misstep means you’re done. 

We’ve gone from sharing space to shrinking it. From being honest to being afraid. 

The moment we start slapping labels on people—“ignorant,” “toxic,” “problematic”—we stop listening. We stop seeing people as people. We reduce them to a word and dismiss them. 

Some of us go even further: we tighten the noose. We hold people to an impossible standard. Say one wrong thing, and they’re hung out to dry. No conversation. No grace. Just judgment. 

It’s exhausting. It’s not kind. And it’s not working.

Let’s be honest. Some subjects make our skin crawl. We react. We get angry. Defensive. Hurt.

 

Why? Because it’s not just about the topic. It’s about what it touches in us.

 

1. It’s personal

Some things hit a nerve because they remind us of pain. Our past. Our upbringing. A wound we haven’t dealt with. When something feels personal, it’s easy to take it as an attack—even if it isn’t meant that way.

 

2. It challenges us

Sometimes we’re not as sure about our beliefs as we thought. A challenge feels like a threat. So we double down instead of admitting, “You’ve given me something to think about.”

 

3. It threatens our sense of identity

Beliefs have become identities. It’s not just what I believe—it’s who I am. So if you disagree with me, it feels like you’re rejecting me. That’s dangerous. It turns every disagreement into a battle.

 

4. It reminds us, we’re not in control

Some topics remind us we’re not in control. Injustice, grief, regret. It hits a place we don’t want to go.

 

These feelings are real. They’re human. They’re not shameful.

 

We can’t stop people from saying things we don’t like. But we can stop and ask ourselves: 

• What’s really going on inside me right now?

• Is this about what they said—or about something I haven’t dealt with?

• Can I be curious instead of just angry or hurt?

That kind of honesty isn’t easy. But it’s freeing. The more we understand what’s behind our reactions, the less we need to control everyone else just to feel okay.