All is Bright

Nearly 30 years ago, a co-worker at a newspaper in Waterbury, Connecticut gave me a candle as a Christmas present.

The candle is a round swirl of red, white and green wax and I kept it ever since, never once thinking of actually using the thing for its intended purpose.

It's so attractive I thought it would be shame to light it up and watch all that beauty melt away.

And I’m already paying enough money to Con Ed for the lights, what's the point of going all Ben Franklin?

Then one day last week I caught sight of that candle sitting on my kitchen table and I thought, yeah, it’s time.

I honestly don’t know what came over me; why, after more than three decades I had this sudden urge to finally light that wick.

Maybe it was a desire to change, to break out of old molds and do something different, no matter how small or insignificant.

The businessman John G. Shedd once said that “a ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” I think the same can be said for candles.

Yes, the candle is beautiful, but its purpose is to give light and comfort. After all these years, it seemed like a shame not to use it and Christmas Eve seemed like the perfect time.

I spend too many of my precious days holding on to dark emotions like fear, regret, and resentment. Maybe I could put a match to them as well.

I hesitated before lighting the candle. This is a one-way street, I told myself.

‘I’m Gonna Let it Shine…’

Once you light this thing, you can’t change your mind and that neat little ball of wax is going to be melted and misshapen. Are you ready for that?

But then I found the idea of crossing that particular Rubicon quite appealing.

I couldn’t find any matches, so I held the candle over the stove. For a few moments, I thought it wasn’t going to light.

The thing is too damn old and now it’s just going to fizzle and die.

But then it started to flicker and soon it was burning steadily. I don’t put up Christmas lights, so I carried the candle over to my kitchen window.

My Italian grandmother used to put out food for deceased loved ones on Christmas Eve and my mother carried on that tradition for years until she left this world.

I’ve never done that, but I would like to think that by lighting this candle I’m adding my own spin to this beloved ritual.

As I watched the candle burn, I said a prayer for my late parents and grandparents and asked that the light would guide their spirits to my home.

I thought of all the other souls crisscrossing the sky on this most holy night and how badly we needed their love and support.

Of course, this little light of mine didn’t begin to match the holiday displays on my block, but those blinking electric bulbs couldn’t hold a candle to the emotional charge I got from this small flame.

I finally put the candle out shortly before midnight and went to bed. It was still dark on Christmas morning, so I lit it up again while I said my prayers and meditated.

The candle still has plenty of life left in it and several more Christmases in its future.

And when it finally does burn away, I’ll get a new one.

Merry Christmas.