Light a Candle

I love candles.  They bring to mind cherished people and places.

The Christmas tree of my childhood held on its branches ... yes ... lighted candles (This is still hard for me to believe but I have black and white photos as evidence of our tradition).  Our parents always did the lighting.  Adults were ALWAYS present and in charge when the candles burned.  And it was glorious, especially on Christmas Eve.  We gathered near the tree to sing Christmas carols.  The room glowed in amber. Our silhouettes danced on the walls. Our harmonies blended with the prayers we offered, "Peace on Earth."

In late October our kitchen table became the pumpkin carving center. Mom covered the table in newspaper. Dad sharpened the knives.  Together the family carved scary and ghoulish faces into the orange orbs, oooooooooooooo.  Then, at sunset on Halloween, our parents set the pumpkins on the porch, inserted a candle into each one, and lighted the candles. Flickering shadows greeted "tricker-treaters" as they made their way to the door in their quest for candy.  At evening's end we blew out the candles and pushed our finger tips into the warm wax residue. With identities erased, hands raised and fingers flexed we growled and howled pretending to be witches and werewolves. 
 
The summer recreation program was "not to be missed,"  My fourth grade friends and I played chess, carrom, and dodge ball.  We made key chain lanyards and "God's eye" weavings. And late in the week we worked with candles. One by one we lighted a variety of colored candles.  We tipped them 45 degrees. The wax drip ... drip ... drip ... dripped down and over a wide base wine bottle. Our creations were amazingly beautiful.  I kept and used my candle holder for almost a decade finally discarding it during my transition from high school to college.  I can't believe that the layers of dust never caught fire.

I wasn't expecting to purchase anything at the college's annual art show.  So I was a bit surprised to leave the exhibit with an eight ounce clear tumbler covered in colored glass, blue with splashes of purple, orange, and yellow, a white votive candle nestled within. For more than twenty years I used this glass candle in private meditation and with friends at dinner parties.
 
Recently I lighted candles at Canterbury Cathedral, Chartres Cathedral, Montserrat Monastery, Sagrada Familia and Christ in the Desert Monastery.  As flames took hold of wicks and wisps of smoke ascended I offered prayers. I prayed for loved ones, friends recovering from surgery, refugee children, world leaders, grieving women whose men did not return from war, parishioners undergoing chemo therapy, and challenged teenagers.  As I prayed I often repeated the words of Psalm 141, "Let my prayer come before you as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice."

I love candles.  They bring to mind cherished people and places.