The Fire Within
Mark 9:49 (NIV)
"Everyone will be salted with fire."
The rain had stopped by dawn, leaving the ground steaming and the air sharp with the scent of wet earth and ash. The villagers moved like ghosts through the mist, whispering about what they had seen—the strange red rain, the trembling of the mountain, the thunder that had no storm.
In the chief's house, Elena sat by the cold hearth, still wrapped in the same cloak she had worn through the night. Her skin felt strange, tingling, as though the dream had followed her back from sleep and refused to let go. She could still feel the voice, that fire-light presence burning in the marrow of her thoughts.
When Julia entered, carrying a cup of warm water, Elena rose too quickly. The cup trembled between them.
"I saw Him," Elena blurted out. "Not in fire only,but in the fire. He spoke. He called me to speak of Him to the people."
Julia studied her quietly. "And what did you answer?"
Elena looked down. "I said nothing. I was afraid. But the fire didn't leave. It's still here." She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes glistening. "I feel it. Like it wants to speak through me."
Julia set the cup aside and took Elena's hands. Her voice softened. "When the Lord sends fire, He means to refine, not destroy. You were chosen to stand, even when the ground shakes. The fear you feel is not weakness,it's the weight of calling."
The girl breathed out, slow. "If I tell them… they'll think I'm mad."
"Some will. But others will hear the truth in your voice." Julia smiled faintly. "The fire will know its own."
---
Later that morning, the chief ,Micah, gathered the villagers in the courtyard. Smoke from their small cooking fires hung in the air. Faces were lined with fatigue and suspicion.
Elena stood beside her grandfather, heart thudding like a drum. She looked so small against the sea of hardened faces, yet her eyes were steady, bright with that same inner light that had kept her awake through the night.
The chief spoke first. "My granddaughter has something to say."
A murmur rolled through the crowd.
Elena stepped forward, her voice shaking only at the beginning. "Last night, while we hid from the storm, the Lord spoke to me. Not Uwa—not the silent god who no longer answers, but the Living One. He said the darkness will not win if we turn to Him. He calls us to leave the old altars, to burn the fear that has ruled us, and to call upon His name."
For a heartbeat, only the wind answered. Then laughter broke out—sharp, bitter.
"The girl dreams and calls it prophecy!" someone scoffed.
"Fire and voices, what nonsense!" another spat.
"Our ancestors prayed to Uwa long before she was born!"
Elena's voice trembled but did not break. "Then why has He gone silent? Why does blood run through our streets and no answer come?"
The crowd fell quiet again, her words cutting through the noise like a blade.
Her mother , Evelyn,stepped forward then, her face pale but proud. "I believe her. Look at her eyes. Do you not see it? The light wasn't there before last night."
The chief nodded slowly, his gaze heavy with thought. "The fire changed her. I saw it too."
But Teuwa's wife hissed from the back. "Bewitchment! That woman from the Black Stone Country brought this on us!"
Julia, standing apart with Ernest, didn't flinch. She simply said, "Truth burns lies. It will either warm you,or consume what you hide."
Old Micah raised his hand for silence. "Enough. Let the girl speak."
Elena drew a long breath. "He said the fire will test us. That we can't hide behind fear any longer. If we keep bowing to what destroys us, then destruction will be all we know. But if we call on His name—Yeshua—He will make a way."
Her words carried across the courtyard, soft yet full, as though the air itself bore them. Some villagers looked away, but others:mothers clutching children, old men weary of waiting,lifted their heads.
Ye, the same man who had once confronted Teuwa, stepped forward. His voice was rough. "Child, if this fire you speak of can save us, then show us. Let your God prove Himself."
Elena didn't flinch. "He already has. You're still alive."
Silence spread again—uneasy, but thoughtful.
---
By midday, the village was split. Some mocked her openly, muttering that madness had caught the chief's line. Others followed her quietly to the mountain's edge, where she knelt and prayed with Julia.
From the ridge, they could see the valleys still scarred by witchfire, but there was something new—thin streams of white smoke rising where red once burned, as if the earth itself were exhaling.
That night, as the sun fell and the first stars appeared, Elena sat outside with her grandfather. The air smelled of pine and wet soil.
"He called you, didn't He?" he asked quietly.
Elena nodded. "He did. Through the fire."
Old Micah smiled, tired but gentle. "Then burn bright, my child. The darkness fears what it cannot consume."
She rested her head against his shoulder, the warmth of the firepit flickering across their faces. Beyond the hills, lightning flashed—not from storm, but from something greater moving unseen.
In the quiet, Julia's voice drifted from the doorway, reading softly from her book:
"For our God is a consuming fire."
Elena watched the flames dance and thought she saw a shape in them—a man of light, his face fierce and kind. The same presence from her dream. His eyes met hers across the distance of heaven and earth, and his voice burned through her heart again:
"Go. Speak. The fire I gave you will spread."
And in that moment, the fear that had chained her melted away.
The night held its breath as she whispered back, "Yes, Lord."
Somewhere in the darkness, the first ember of revival took root.