There is so much risk in passion because passion's simile is fire. Not romanticized warmth. Not commercialized power, or fire-bending avatars, but hot, skin-searing flame. Fire burns, painfully. It melts things. It distorts.
But at the end of the distortion does not the fire leave a refined thing, a thing that has been stripped down to the most minimal and pure; a thing with all of its fluff-crap gone?
I want pure passion. Purity in passion. I want to be passionately pure. Full of only what's left after the refining. Full of the glory of Jesus.
There is so much risk in passion. Passion is not always romantic. It is not starry-eyed. It is not easy. It is not always likeable. It does not always feel relevant, and often does not come with a plan B.
Passion is when my soul is heavy along side the morning darkness, and I have to tell it that this is worth it. For the glory of Jesus, this passion is worth it. Complacency can never be an option.
Passion is sanctifying.
Passion is refining
Passion is fire, often consuming even those who stand close.
Passion is exhausting.
But passion is joy,
And Passion is also peace;
the quiet of a quickened heart beat and a still mind.