There is something fascinating about the lodgepole pine. Unlike many trees that release their seeds before a fire, the lodgepole pinecone holds onto its seeds. It remains closed, protected by a layer of resin that keeps the seeds sealed inside.
Then something unexpected happens. Fire comes. To someone walking through the forest afterward, it can look like destruction. The trees are blackened. The landscape is scarred. What was once full of life appears to be gone.
But the fire did not destroy the purpose of the pinecone. The fire revealed it. The heat that looked like an ending was actually the beginning of something new. I have often thought that our lives are much like the lodgepole pinecone.
Not because we enjoy the fire. Not because we ask for the difficult seasons. But because every fire we walk through has the potential to create a new version of ourselves, one capable of helping people we could not have helped before.
Every season changes us. Every hardship removes something. Every trial exposes something. Every difficult chapter has the opportunity to produce something we did not have before. The person I was years ago could not have helped the people I help today because he had not experienced the things that shaped me.
Pain creates empathy. Loss creates understanding. Failure creates humility. Survival creates compassion. The fires of life do not always feel productive while we are standing in the middle of them. When you are in the flames, you rarely see the forest that will grow afterward.
You just feel the heat. You wonder why it is happening. You wonder how much more you can endure. You wonder if anyone else even understands what you are going through. And that is one of the hardest parts of being the lodgepole pinecone. The people around you may see the struggle, but they may not understand the purpose being formed inside of it.
They may see the pain. They may see the setbacks. They may see the circumstances. But they may not see the transformation taking place beneath the surface. Sometimes the person who spends their life helping others discovers that they are standing alone in their own season of fire.
They are the person others call when life falls apart. They are the person who provides answers. They are the person who shows up. But when their own wilderness comes, they may find there are very few people who truly understand the journey they are walking. That is where faith becomes more than a belief. It becomes an anchor.
Throughout Scripture, God repeatedly uses wilderness seasons to prepare people for what comes next. Moses spent years in the wilderness before leading Israel. David spent years running from Saul before becoming king. Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness before beginning His public ministry. The wilderness was not the destination. It was preparation. The fire was not the purpose. It was transformation.
Think about a forest that has never experienced change. Over time, dead branches accumulate. The undergrowth becomes thick. The wilderness becomes crowded with things that prevent new growth. Sometimes things have to be cleared away. Old habits. Old wounds. Old identities. Old ways of thinking. Things we thought we needed but were actually preventing us from becoming who God created us to be.
The fire removes what cannot remain. But it also reveals what was always there. The seed was already inside the pinecone before the fire ever came. The fire did not create the seed. The fire released it. And maybe that is true for us as well. Maybe the trials we endure do not create our purpose. Maybe they reveal it. Maybe the difficult seasons are not proof that God has abandoned us. Maybe they are evidence that He is preparing us for something we cannot yet see.
Because the truth is, we do not go through fires just for ourselves. The new version of us is often created for someone else. The person who needed encouragement. The person who needed someone who understood. The person who was standing in their own fire and needed to know they were not alone. A new season requires a new version of us. We cannot help tomorrow’s person with yesterday’s growth.
And sometimes God allows the wilderness to change us because the people we are called to reach require a version of us that only the wilderness could create. So, if you find yourself in a season where everything feels burned down, remember the lodgepole pinecone.
The forest may look empty. The ashes may still be warm. The old version of life may be gone. But beneath the surface, something is waiting. The fire was never the end of the story.
It was the moment the seed was released.
Scripture Reflection:
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”
— James 1:2-3
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