When Flames Refuse to Die

When Flames Refuse to Die

How Compassion Outshines Selfishness in the Storms of Life

By Kateb Shunnar

You ever notice how life has a sense of humor? And not the nice kind. I mean the kind that trips you up when you’re already late, makes your car do a slow death in the middle of traffic, and somehow convinces your so-called friends to vanish like they’ve joined a secret witness protection program. And in the middle of all that chaos, there’s this little stubborn flame inside, whispering, “Care anyway. Give anyway. Be better anyway.” And you look at it like, Seriously? Now? But the flame doesn’t listen to your whining. It just keeps glowing. Because it’s not really ours it’s the Creator’s.

Selfishness is tempting, though. Oh man, it’s tempting. It’s shiny, it’s convenient, and it’s that little voice that says, “Look out for number one, lock your door, don’t get involved.” And sure, for a moment, it feels safe. But selfishness never warms your chest. It’s like eating sugar straight out of the bag it spikes, you crash, and then you’re hollow. Compassion, though… compassion is the weird magic that feeds you while you feed somebody else. You lend a hand, you give a smile, and somehow your own light gets brighter. It’s upside-down logic that only the Creator could pull off, and honestly, it’s beautiful.

Let me be real sometimes compassion feels inconvenient. Like, really inconvenient. There were nights I wanted nothing more than to flop on my couch and binge whatever nonsense my brain had picked up on the internet. And then someone calls, or shows up, or just needs a little help, and I’m like, Can’t you see I’m trying to be lazy here? But that’s exactly when the test comes. It’s those moments where your flame could either sputter or burn brighter. And if it burns, oh, if it burns… you realize it’s not really about you at all. It’s about someone else. Someone who might just need your light to make it through the dark.

And here’s a hard truth: don’t be that friend or family member who cheers on foolishness just to stay popular. I’m talking about the ones who see someone making bad choices and go, “Well, it’s your life, I’ll clap anyway.” Nah. That’s not friendship. That’s cowardice wearing a smile. True friendship is saying, “Look, I get why you think this is right, but you’re wrong, and I care too much to let it happen.” And yeah, it’s uncomfortable. People get mad. You lose a friend. Big deal. Better to lose a friend than feed a fire that will burn them down.

I remember one time my cousin was getting into some mess I won’t even go into details but I knew every step was a disaster waiting to happen. I hesitated, I hemmed, I hawed, thinking, Do I speak? Do I stay quiet and keep peace? Then I remembered my grandmother’s words: “Don’t let your lamp go out, baby. Somebody out there is walking in darkness waiting for your light.” So I spoke up. Did they like it? Nope. But weeks later, they told me, quietly, “You saved me from myself.” That little flame of mine, refusing to die, had done its job. And that’s exactly why I write to remind someone else that their flame matters too. My words are the oil for your lamp. My stories, little matches striking in the dark, because maybe, just maybe, you need a spark.

And listen, the world is full of dysfunction. Families that can’t talk without yelling. Neighborhoods that pass judgment before a greeting. Societies that profit off division. It’s exhausting, it’s messy, and sometimes it’s downright depressing. But we can’t wait for someone else to fix it. The tools are in our hands: patience, compassion, care, forgiveness. They’re not soft, fluffy words. They’re weapons forged in the fire of the Creator’s love. And if we wield them, little by little, we heal the cracks.

So here’s my challenge, and yes, I’m calling you out: be better. Not perfect. Just better. Be a neighbor who notices when someone’s hurting. Be a sibling who steps in before the same old cycle repeats. Be a friend who tells the truth with love, even when it costs a relationship. Be human, and be human together. Our storms aren’t going anywhere, but our flames our stubborn, relentless, divine flames they refuse to die. And that’s the miracle.

We will trip, we will stumble, we will laugh at ourselves in the rain. We’ll probably spill coffee on our shirts while preaching patience. We’ll get frustrated, say the wrong thing, regret it, apologize, repeat. But if we keep showing up, keep lighting our lamps, keep being better toward one another, the darkness starts to shrink. Families heal. Neighborhoods become safe. Society, slowly, inch by inch, catches glimpses of light. And if my words, or your words, or even a smile offered in passing, can help one person keep walking instead of giving up… that’s enough to keep my own flame alive.

So, light your lamp, refill the ones around you, and don’t be afraid to speak truth, even if it ruffles feathers. Because the world is waiting for our flames. Waiting for our courage. Waiting for us to be better, together. And the storms? They’re coming. They always do. But our flames stubborn, fierce, unquenchable refuse to die

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