A slender taper candle occupies the back corner of my desk. It stands like a pillar in an earthy-looking
candleholder hewn from rock, waiting to shed light.
This is not an ordinary candle leftover from some holiday
dinner, but one of a collection blessed by an Orthodox Christian priest and given to us
during a critical phase of my husband’s battle with heart failure. It is a candle to accompany prayer.
Today the wick refused to ignite. Side-stepping everything I know about
trimming pre-burned wicks, I stubbornly continued to strike match after
match. After numerous attempts, one
small, frayed strand barely caught on fire - a small speck that grew to engulf
and consume the entire wick. (See the
white dot on the right of the wick?
That is where it started.)
In some unexpected way, I identified. Immersed in my own
agenda, I’m preoccupied and unavailable to the Flame that promises to illumine
all the details of my life with hope and promise. However, when I willingly bend
away from preoccupations, and seek and receive Him, I am enveloped. Immersed.
As flickering candlelight softly filled my corner space, I
recited ancient prayers aloud: “Glory to God, who has shown me the Light…for
with You is the fountain of Life, and in Your Light shall we see Light.” The candle’s insistent flame blazed hot and
bold.
Its wick grew ever taller, escaping entrapment in wax. (Something hard and calloused in me also seemed to simultaneously melt
away.) Finally a rusty knob stood
brazenly amidst the fire. (Something in me also seemed aroused, as if my
heart stood at attention.)
“…Lord and Creator of all, by Thy true Light and with an
enlightened heart grant me to do Thy will, now and ever…teach me to pray, to
believe, to hope, to suffer, to forgive, and to love. Amen.”
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