A few nights ago a peculiar thing happened. An electrical storm caused a
blackout in our neighbourhood. When the lights went out, I felt my way through
the darkness into the storage closet where we keep the candles for nights like
this. Through the glow of a lit match I looked up on the shelf where the candles
were stored. There they were, already positioned in their stands, melted to
various degrees by previous missions. I took my match and lit four of them.
How they illuminated the storage room! What had been a veil of blackness
suddenly radiated with soft, golden light! I could see the freezer I had just
bumped with my knee. And I could see my tools that needed to be straightened.
"How great it is to have light!" I said out loud, and then spoke to the candles.
"If you do such a good job here in the storage closet, just wait till I get you
out of where you're really needed! I'll put one of you on my table so we can
eat. I'll put one of you on my desk so I can read. I'll give one of you to
Denalyn so she can cross-stitch. And I'll set you, "I took down the largest one,
" in the living room where you can light up the whole area," (I felt a bit
foolish talking to candles - but what do you do when the lights go out?)
I was turning to leave with the large candle in my hand when I heard a voice,
"Now, hold it right there."
I stopped. Somebody's in here! I thought. Then I relaxed. It's just Denalyn,
teasing me for talking to the candles.
"OK, honey, cut the kidding," I said in the semi-darkness. No answer.
Hmmm, maybe it was the wind. I took another step. "Hold it, I said! "There was
that voice again. My hands began to sweat.
"Who said that?"
"I did." The voice was near my hand.
"Who are you? What are you?"
"I'm a candle." I looked at the candle I was holding. It was burning a strong,
golden flame. It was red and sat on a heavy wooden candle holder that had a firm
handle.
I looked around once more to see if the voice could be coming from another
source. "There's no one here but you, me and the rest of the candles, "the voice
informed me.
I lifted up the candle to take a closer look. You won't believe what I saw.
There was a tiny face in the wax. (I told you you wouldn't believe me). Not
just a wax face that someone had carved, but a moving, functioning, flesh like
face full of expression and life. "Don't take me out of here!"
"What?"
"I said, don't take me out of this room."
"What do you mean? I have to take you out. You're a candle. Your job is to give
light. It's dark out there. People are stubbing their toes and walking into
walls. You have to come out and light up the place!"
"But you can't take me out. I'm not ready,: the candle explained with pleading
eyes. "I need more preparation."
I couldn't believe my ears. "More preparation?"
"Yeah, I've decided I need to research this job of light-giving so I won't go
out and make a bunch of mistakes. You'd be surprised how distorted the glow of
an untrained candle can be. So I'm doing some studying. I just finished a book
on wind resistance. I'm in the middle of a great series of tapes on wick
build-up and conservation - I'm reading the new best-seller on flame display.
Have you heard of it?
"No," I answered.
"You might like it. It's called Waxing Eloquently".
"That really sounds inter--" I caught myself. What am I doing? I'm in here
conversing with a candle while my wife and daughters are out there in the
darkness!
"All right then," I said. "You're not the only candle on the shelf. I'll blow
you out and take the others!"
But just as I got my cheeks full of air, I heard other voices.
"We're not going either!"
It was a conspiracy. I turned around and looked at the three other candles; each
with flames dancing above a miniature face.
I was beyond feeling awkward about talking to candles. I was getting miffed.
"You are candles and your job is to light dark places!"
"Well, that may be what you think," said the candle on the far left - a long
thin fellow with a goatee and British accent. "You may think we have to go, but
I'm busy."
"Busy?"
"Yes, I'm meditating."
"What? A candle that meditates?"
"Yes. I'm meditating on the importance of light. It's really enlightening."
I decided to reason with them. "Listen, I appreciate what you guys are doing.
I'm all for meditation time. And everyone needs to study and research; but for
goodness' sake, you guys have been here for weeks! Haven't you had enough time
to get your wick on straight?"
"And you other two," I asked, "are you going to stay in here as well?"
A short, fat, purple candle with plump cheeks that reminded me of Santa Claus
spoke up. "I'm waiting to get my life together. I'm not stable enough. I lose my
temper easily. I guess you could say that I'm a hothead."
The last candle had a female voice, very pleasant to the ear. "I'd like to
help," she explained, "but lighting the darkness is not my gift."
All this was sounding too familiar. "Not your gift?" What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm a singer. I sing to other candles to encourage them to burn more
brightly." Without asking my permission, she began a rendition of "This Little
Light of Mine." (I have to admit, she had a good voice.)
The other three joined in, filling the storage room with singing.
"Hey, I shouted above the music, "I don't mind if you sing while you work! In
fact, we could use a little music out there!" They didn't hear me. They were
singing too loudly. I yelled louder. "Come on, you guys. There's plenty of time
for this later. We've got a crisis on our hands."
They wouldn't stop. I put the big candle on the shelf and took a step back and
considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly healthy candles singing to
each other about light but refusing to come out of the closet. I had all I could
take. One by one I blew them out. They kept singing to the end. The last one to
flicker was the female. I snuffed her out right in the "puff" part of "Won't let
Satan puff me out."
I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked back out into the darkness. I bumped
my knee on the same freezer. Then I bumped into my wife.
"Where are the candles?" She asked.
"They don't....they won't work. Where did you buy those candles anyway?"
"Oh, they're church candles. Remember the church that closed down across the
town? I bought them there."
I understood.
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please
authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances
dictate.
Thanks to Daren Bullock
daren@youthpages.org
YouthPAGES http://www.youthpages.org
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