It’s clear now, but when I drove to work, it was foggy. I felt a little betrayed by the ice on my windshield this morning. After two days in Las Vegas, I had completely forgotten winter. It’s unseasonably warm, yet I want more.

I drive past several refineries on my way to work every morning. Sometimes they burn. Sometimes, they seem dormant except for the smoke billowing out of a couple of stacks. Today, in the fog, the burn was almost magic. The metal column was completely obscured by the fog and all I could see was the huge flame, floating in the air above the refinery.

Burning bushes and the Holy Spirit came to mind. “This must be how the early saints felt, seeing a huge flame in the sky, beckoning,” I thought to myself. Of course, there were no refineries to trick the saints into thinking they saw the fire of God. No, refineries are a modern experience that have nothing to do with saints or gods or monsters.

I was still groggy from the long drive home from Vegas yesterday, so the flame seemed more significant than it should have. It’s funny how a trick of the weather can create a sense of wonder in the ordinary. I wonder if it had been foggy when Moses found the burning bush.