Friday, June 12, 2009
Almost A Criminal
Did I ever tell you about the time I almost became a criminal? I was a mere teenager with my whole life ahead of me when I foolishly conspired with my second cousin to commit arson. Ok, that might be a bit over-stated. We weren’t really trying to burn anything down, but we were lucky that we didn’t start a prairie fire.
It was probably mid-summer. My cohort and I were traversing our uncle’s 300 acre farm in Pompey’s Pillar, Montana. We were walking up a dirt road toward the farm junkyard. The road was nothing more than two tire tracks with a strip of tall, brown, dry grass between them. One of us, I honestly don’t remember who, had acquired some matches. Since we were now out of sight of the house, we decided to play with fire.
I remember striking a match tossing it into the grass, then immediately stomping on it. It was a lot of fun, but it should have been a tip-off that we were toying with stupidity several matches later when I stomped on a match and the flames billowed out around my sneakers demanding that I stomp a second and third time. Unfortunately, some of us are slow learners. We continued our experiment with combustibles. Another match… another stomp… a little breeze… and soon the fire spread faster than our feet could dance.
After an initial panic we had the presence of mind to run ten or fifteen feet downwind and tear out a portion of the grass that was in the middle of the road. Then, as the flames approached we threw handfuls of dirt at the inferno until the flames finally died out. When the episode was over we stood shaking, staring at 20 or more feet of charred grass. It began to dawn on us that if we had been tossing matches to the side of the road rather than in the center patch of grass, we might have started a fire which would have likely burned several acres before being extinguished. We would have been responsible for damage we didn’t intend to cause. That would have been criminal.
I often wonder how many times we play with fire, never thinking about the far-reaching ramifications. We don’t pause to consider how a little flirtation could leave a child fatherless, how a few beers and a drive could end innocent lives, or how a few dollars stolen from the till could result in a criminal record. The thrill that accompanies a struck match, or an instant flame is too tempting. No one is looking, we reason, so why not engage in inappropriate behavior or cheat a little? It’s only a little match that can be easily stomped out. “Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” (James 3:5)
I don’t know if anyone ever noticed that twenty feet of charred road. Thankfully, my foolishness taught me a lesson. I learned that rules, boundaries and prudence are my friends. I learned that dry grass burns fast and the caution “don’t play with fire,” was issued with my well-being in mind. In years to come I would learn many similar lessons, only about different kinds of fire. Somebody was looking out for a couple of young boys on the high plains of Montana back in the 70s. Had we been engaging in such foolishness just a few feet to one side, the runaway fire might have made me a criminal.
It was probably mid-summer. My cohort and I were traversing our uncle’s 300 acre farm in Pompey’s Pillar, Montana. We were walking up a dirt road toward the farm junkyard. The road was nothing more than two tire tracks with a strip of tall, brown, dry grass between them. One of us, I honestly don’t remember who, had acquired some matches. Since we were now out of sight of the house, we decided to play with fire.
I remember striking a match tossing it into the grass, then immediately stomping on it. It was a lot of fun, but it should have been a tip-off that we were toying with stupidity several matches later when I stomped on a match and the flames billowed out around my sneakers demanding that I stomp a second and third time. Unfortunately, some of us are slow learners. We continued our experiment with combustibles. Another match… another stomp… a little breeze… and soon the fire spread faster than our feet could dance.
After an initial panic we had the presence of mind to run ten or fifteen feet downwind and tear out a portion of the grass that was in the middle of the road. Then, as the flames approached we threw handfuls of dirt at the inferno until the flames finally died out. When the episode was over we stood shaking, staring at 20 or more feet of charred grass. It began to dawn on us that if we had been tossing matches to the side of the road rather than in the center patch of grass, we might have started a fire which would have likely burned several acres before being extinguished. We would have been responsible for damage we didn’t intend to cause. That would have been criminal.
I often wonder how many times we play with fire, never thinking about the far-reaching ramifications. We don’t pause to consider how a little flirtation could leave a child fatherless, how a few beers and a drive could end innocent lives, or how a few dollars stolen from the till could result in a criminal record. The thrill that accompanies a struck match, or an instant flame is too tempting. No one is looking, we reason, so why not engage in inappropriate behavior or cheat a little? It’s only a little match that can be easily stomped out. “Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!” (James 3:5)
I don’t know if anyone ever noticed that twenty feet of charred road. Thankfully, my foolishness taught me a lesson. I learned that rules, boundaries and prudence are my friends. I learned that dry grass burns fast and the caution “don’t play with fire,” was issued with my well-being in mind. In years to come I would learn many similar lessons, only about different kinds of fire. Somebody was looking out for a couple of young boys on the high plains of Montana back in the 70s. Had we been engaging in such foolishness just a few feet to one side, the runaway fire might have made me a criminal.
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