The sky burns red the glory of God yet is just a flicker of a glow of His majesty and power and humbleness. Oh, to be brave and steely as the three with faith and resolve to embrace those shackles without fear of the fire. They are rescued by grace, refined by the fire.

When facing the furnace of the refiners fire, He sweats drops of red while I sleep, yet I whimper and cower when the rooster crows because I’ve grown accustomed to taking lightly this treasure of red.

To wake up early to see the sunrise and stay awake to watch the sun go to sleep. The fire in the sky is a safe place to find comfort but it stirs a longing. I want to feel the red in my soul that longs for more of the refiner’s fire. To be made pure but not consumed. Not destroyed. Refined by grace.