I have a confession to make. I like to burn paper. It’s a weird nervous habit I have. Sometimes, I see a lighter, or a box of matches sitting on a counter, I’ll just sit there and burn the edges of any paper that may be around. It could be a piece of junk mail. It could be an envelope, a grocery list. Whatever, I just somehow feel the need to set it on fire.
Now, I don’t set it ablaze, mind you. I simply light the edge, and I get an odd satisfaction out of watching the fire eat the paper. And, just before the fire gets going, I hastily put it out. Then, I start again. There’s some kind of thrill of watching the destructive power of fire, I think. And there’s an even bigger thrill, in seeing how far I can let the fire go, before I know it’s time to put it out. I love to think about the phenomenal energy of fire, and how it’s all at my whim. That the power of my inevitable breath, will trump the fire and stop it dead. I am greater than fire.
I think there’s some sort of psychological principle at work here. Maybe there’s basic spiritual human instinct. I have a God given authority over nature, and I am not afraid to use it. Maybe it’s a control thing, and the power of control over destructive forces. Or maybe my sin nature gets off on the ability to destroy. Maybe it’s some kind of rebellion against childhood rules about playing with fire. As an adult, I can play with fire if I damn well please. (Real mature thought process, I must say).
Maybe I think too much. Maybe I just think fire is interesting. And really, if you think about it, if God created fire, then wouldn’t appreciating the complexities of it, in fact be a form of worship? I would like to think so. Beyond that, I don’t know why I do the things I do sometimes. And, you know what? That’s okay.