Smoke lifted on the breeze in tendrils. It was the inaugural use of my new firepit. Lined with slate and filled with sand, it sat at the back of my yard which overlooked a cityscape. It was a thing of beauty if I do say so myself.

I’d lined up hotdogs and fixings and the makings of s’mores. It would be great! But something kept my friends from joining me, and it was just me and my dog, Ernie. He was loyal and all the things a dog should be. And though I’d been stood up, so to speak, I decided to inaugurate my firepit anyway by myself. I’d worked on it all day, having gotten the materials together the week before.

And here I sat. Eating two hotdogs with relish and mustard and topping it off with roasted marshmallows, a chocolate bar, and a graham cracker. I washed it down with good old fashioned water.

And then we sat – Ernie and I – as the firepit dwindled to charred sticks. And we watched smoke that didn’t end as readily rise from the cityscape as it had all morning and afternoon. Whatever it was, it was immense. Whatever it was, I didn’t know, but I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget it.

It’s true, isn’t it, that if you don’t know something, you can’t be expected to act like you do. On the other hand, if you do know something, have watched, have heard, have read, have thought; that nature and nature’s God expect a response. They expect you to remember even if you’re tired of remembering and to not pretend it doesn’t matter. To listen and discern. To sort through the rubble of reports and opinion. To reach down into that place that holds qualities like courage and grief and righteous judgement and to say or do something even if it’s as small as lighting a candle or as big as praying. Because an apathetic life and an unexamined life and an undiscerning life are all passengers in the same boat; a useless, pitiful, poisonous boat.

Remember.

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