Much is being made about the Texas heat wave, and it is hot—but most summers here are hot.

Yesterday I walked down the street without shoes. My feet would have been damaged if I had not trespassed on neighbor’s grass and darted from shade to shade.

And when there was a concrete slope with no shade? I slid on my butt and pulled my long sleeves down to cover my arms.

All I could and can think of is how impossible the trip would have been without grass, trees, and the abandonment of my dignity.

Once I got to the spillway I realized that my stubby little legs were just out of safe reach to the wobbly top step down to the water. I ended up having to climb up and around the spillway, hanging on to the low limbs and trunks of trees to give me purchase.

Then there were an inordinate number of wasps to slide by and over, no way back at that point—so close to the water.

The short trip was a revelation to me on heat and lesser perils, especially the way the sun can make concrete and asphalt unbearably hot, and my own insufficiencies.

I am a mammal and we mammals do not all tolerate extreme heat.

Jesus went to hell for me. I have no reason to believe that the metaphysical “dumpster fire” hell would be anything less intense the the actual heat of an actual sun—burning in the intensity that would be necessary to burn away human rejections of just and holy love.

Makes 10 minutes on the Texas pavement seem like a small thing.

Jesus rescued me from fire by being consumed by it.

That is harrowing and impossible to comprehend.

Romans 8