Somewhere in hazy ancient pre-history, our ancestors tamed fire and their world opened up. A candle, lit in the dankest cave or the darkest stone hut, dispelled the night, chased away spirits, and enabled them to continue on with the work of their world long after the sun had set. A candle was a blessing, something so special in that long ago time that it was given as a lighted sacrifice when prayers were offered up to their gods, their God. In my search to rekindle my heart and spirit, I've returned to the candle. By its light, I read my daily devotion; by its light I offer my prayers. Unlike my ancestors, my candle gives me a focus that shuts out the world. In the dark morning or the late night, I turn out all artificial light and light my candle. Beyond its flickering glow, the world's busy-ness stays quiet in the dark; I can ignore it for a time. Offering a prayer as I light my candle, I call Spirit into my life. Candlelight brings only enough illumination for the task at hand...writing, reading, praying, meditating. I can forget about reports, projects, data, balancing the checkbook. Only when I blow out the candle's gentle flame and flip the switch that brings electricity surging into light bulbs big and small is there enough light to do the world's work. A few brief moments in a world lit only by a single flame soothes and centers my soul. I am again at one with Spirit.
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