In this walk of love and suffering I am reminded of the pain in a blacksmith's hands. He takes a lump of steel found among the rocks, something which is ugly and useless as it is, than he puts it in the fire, this is the first step on a painful course of beauty. First heated to the point of least resistance he watches carefully to snatch it from the flames just before it melts and becomes useless among the coals. He knows at this point he can mold it into any form he chooses, the metal is now weakened and can no longer resist him. That which was hard and solid, having no pliability... that which was formed without shape... is now prepared by fire to become a thing of beauty, a tool of certain choice. Without that flame of torment the steel could not be changed, the master could not shape it; his vision for the metal could not take new form.
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***In the flames of torment deep among the coals, there where life is hardest the Lord can touch our soul. He first burns off the hardness than strips away our pride, a broken lump of softness reveals the love inside.***
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The blacksmith realizes his work has just begun; the metal is now softened, pliable, ready to be formed. He pulls out his hammer and strikes a mighty blow. Sparks of change begin to fly, the cries of pain are heard, the mighty sound of metal as it hits it's fellow kind. Metal changing metal in the master's hands, oh the pain that metal feels as the blacksmith swings again. Beating hard against the steel to knock away the drought, the master looks and sees a part that stiffens from the air, so back into the flames of pain the metal goes once more, down among the coals of fire to soften yet again. Over and over this process goes
until the metal forms, the master's plan has taken shape, the metal has conformed. A tool of beauty and great strength is what the master made, he now can dip it in the stream to make it firm again.
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***To an alter we must cling,