Candle Light

When we were kids, we fought over who got to light the candles for family prayer. Every day. A pair of candlesticks framed our altar to Jesus and Mary and there were seven of us siblings. So, my favorite Mass of the whole year became the Easter Vigil Mass because we each got our own candle. Actually, I didn't know that was what you called it until I joined the convent. It was always the "Night of Light."

The little boy next to me was playing with his candle. He held it low, to avoid attention. He cradled it carefully in his hand, looking intently at its burning heart. Last night, I was at Easter Vigil Mass in Arlington to pray for two friends. They were getting baptized. They were teens.

Father asked everyone to blow out the candles because Scripture was being proclaimed and this was the Light of truth for our world. And also because the wax might dirty the pews. My neighbor kept his candle lit. His mom didn't stop him. I don't blame her. I didn't stop him either.

There is something different about the light of a candle.

It flickers.
It burns.
It radiates...
because its self slowly surrenders.

The light of a candle is messy.
It drips.
It's unpredictable.
It sputters when there is a draft in the room.

Over candlelight, his eyes said something to me.
I felt the question.
My heart skipped, ever so lightly.

My eyes gazed into the heart of another candle.

My favorite spot in the convent is the chapel at night. The room is bathed in darkness. The sanctuary candle glows a gentle red, it's burning heart flickering faithfully. The Eucharistic Jesus is always with me.

The Light of Night came for Denise and Henson last night.
The Light of Night waits for a little boy to welcome Him as more than just light.
The Light of Night surrenders Himself to me so that I may glow within Him.