Where There Is a Spark
Yes treadmill time. 4am. Happy opening of the lions gate. Enjoy today's reflection.
It was 3 a.m. The house was quiet. I made our coffee, wrapped my hands around the warmth of the mug, and walked over to the fire. There was almost nothing left. Just a faint glow beneath the ash.
Will looked over and said, “The fire's dead.”
I smiled. “Where there is a spark, there is hope,” I replied. “I can kick it off again.”
I gently moved the coals, added another piece of wood, breathed life into what looked as though it had already given everything it had to give. Slowly… a flicker. Then another. Until the flames began to rise once more.
As I watched the fire awaken, I realised it wasn't just the fire I was looking at. It was life.
How often do we stand before something—a relationship, a dream, our health, our purpose, even ourselves—and quietly conclude, “It's over.” “It's too late.” “The fire has gone out.”
Yet sometimes it isn't the absence of life we're witnessing. It's simply the absence of the right conditions. A spark doesn't need much. A little oxygen. A little patience. A willingness to tend to it instead of walking away.
As I walked on the treadmill this morning, I found myself reflecting on the timing. Yesterday was the Day Out of Time—a tradition that speaks of the sacred pause between one cycle ending and another beginning. Today marks the beginning of what many know as the Lion's Gate season—a symbolic time associated with courage, remembering and opening ourselves to new possibilities.
Whether you experience these traditions spiritually, symbolically or simply as beautiful reminders to pause, perhaps they offer us something worth considering. Not because they ask us to believe. But because they ask us to notice.
I have come to believe that curiosity may be one of the greatest acts of hope. Curiosity asks, “What if this isn't the end? What if there is still a spark beneath the ash?”
Some things are only recognised by the heart. Perhaps that is why symbolism has travelled with humanity for thousands of years. Stories. Stars. The moon. Fire. The changing seasons. They remind us that the outer world has always helped us make sense of our inner one.
Where is the spark? Not out there. Within. What part of you still glows beneath the ash? What dream has not died but simply waited?
This morning, a fire reminded me of something I never want to forget. Where there is a spark… there is always the possibility of a flame. And perhaps hope is nothing more than choosing to believe that the ember is still alive, even before the fire begins to roar.