There’s a spot waiting for you at the campfire.

I had just finished waiting on a customer. Glancing over at the campfire display my wife, Jennifer, created to help me market my books at summer arts events, I spotted three little girls sitting side by side on the ground. Hands extended, rubbing them together, they pretended to warm them at my artificial fire. There they sat, completing a circle with my little block-headed cousins. I let out a hearty laugh and the girls laughed with me, delight in their eyes.

Their little childhood gesture made my day. Asked if I could take a photo of them, they happily consented. Probably visiting this Northern Minnesota vacation land from the Cities. Maybe staying at Grandma and Grandpa’s lake cabin, now they sat at my fire.

Jennifer made my little block-headed campfire people from a neglected pile of oak – cut firewood length, not yet split. These pint-sized characters draw attention to my festival sale tent. They are “my cousins” who helped eight-year-old me start a campfire in the basement of my parents’ home on Christmas Day. We were playing “camping.” This is one example from my life that fits the saying, “Bad decisions make good stories.”

My three new campfire friends appeared to represent Latina, African American, and European ancestry. There they sat, shoulder to shoulder, with my oak cousins. It occurred to me later that night, we need to see more such photos of all God’s critters joyfully sharing a beautiful day and life together. Bill Staines, American singer/songwriter, wrote “All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir” in 1978. We heard him sing it in Nisswa in the 90s. In the song, Staines ventured there is room in God’s choir for every person. I believe God likes this song. I do.

The title of my second book, Who Will Carry the Fire? More Reflections from a North Woods Lake, comes from ancient Ojibwe history when, upon changing seasonal camps, someone had to carry the embers from their fire to the next location. Precious resource for life. One person looked out for the wellbeing of the whole village. I go on to tell my campfire listeners, that a whole village of people – parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, farmers, pastors, medical people, snowplow drivers, military folks – have worked, sweated, sacrificed, sometimes even died, to carry the fire for me. To give me the opportunity to live a good life. I have been blessed with an amazing life – no great wealth, but a wonderful, love-filled, freedom-embraced life here in the United States of America.

I love to tell stories. When people hear them, I hope they will laugh, cry, or grimace as they feel moved. But, far more, I hope they will be reminded of their own stories, celebrate what an amazing life they also have, then, most important of all, pass their hopeful stories along to lift up and help today’s young people.

The world seems so much tougher now than it did when I was growing up. Anger, hatred, and lies so divide God’s precious creatures. Will my 40-year-old daughter and her husband ever be able to purchase a home? Will there be social security, pensions, Medicare, Medicaid when my kids need them? How clean and safe will the air, water, and food they depend upon be? Will they have to lose their home when they get sick or elderly? Will they be able to worship, or not, as they see fit? Will the little girls at my campfire, along with my grandsons, be able to enjoy the same quality of life that my generation has?

Who will carry the fire for our little ones? There are hopeful stories to be told, hands to be lent, hands to hold, and votes to cast.

Maybe all God’s critters could sit down around a campfire and figure the best way for us to warm our hands and look out for each other. God would be there.

Darrell J. Pedersen