Friday, June 26, 2009

Candle in the Wind

I love a good bath. There’s nothing like it in the world. For what else can compare to the warm invitation to let every care of the day melt away into nothingness? Where else can you surrender all defenses, releasing your mind to wander in the blissful state of thoughtlessness? When else in life can you do absolutely nothing, and emerge forever altered--a transformed person?

Now, I know these sentiments might be quite contentious to those loyal shower-takers of the world. But nonetheless, I must confess, the bath is my refuge. A shower serves a purpose…a bath, on the other hand, changes lives. Esteemed as such by the English, that in ancient times, battles were even fought over them. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember any major world conflicts ensuing over a shower.

So, consider my absolute delight when I discover that one of my husband’s love languages is…you’ve got it…setting up a really great bath. (In my book, yet another indicator that this was a match made in heaven.) He masters the mood by placing every candle known to man in every little nook and cranny of the bathroom, so that the light is gentle on my eyes and on my features. He draws the water…hot and steamy, complete with smell-good stuff…resulting in a silky, luxurious layer of sparkling bubbles to slip beneath. A glass of cool water rests on the ledge, just within arms reach…to quench my thirst as I bask in the glow of it all. He orchestrates the music from one of my favorite smoky jazz singers…and the stage is beautifully set. The vibe is so right. The earth stands still. The escape…sheer perfection.


Last night was such a night. We had spent the weekend ministering at church, and we’d been burning our candles at both ends for what seemed like days now. So my beloved, in an endearing act of service, surprised me by drawing me a bath. It was solace to my aching and weary soul. And as I lay there, something in my heart was drawn to the candles that flickered around me.

Each of them was different, uniquely made, extraordinary in their own right…some were poured into glass, some were unhindered by any structure at all. Some were light in color and glowed throughout, some were dark…radiant only at the source of the flame. Some were smooth in texture, some fluted or carved or mottled. Some were tall and lean, while some were short and squatty. Some were newly bought and burning brightly for the first time, some were barely alive with light and soon would serve their final tub-side tour of duty.


But there was something strikingly similar about this menagerie of odd-shaped vessels of light. Each of them encircled a flame. Each of them contained a blackened wick, whose sole purpose was to be a light-bearer…to burn. And I thought to myself how wonderful it would be to live life so simply…to have one single purpose, one well-defined goal. To find the One Thing that you were created to do, and for it to be just this: to burn.
“You know that’s all I want from you.”
Oddly, I was conflicted…and almost offended.
“What do you mean?! There are so many things that have to be done…so many hurting people that need help…so many jobs to complete…so many people with so many requests…when there’s so, so little time! How can you say that’s all you want from me?”
But I knew in the tender silence that He was right. I’ve added all of the other stuff into the mix. I’ve made the “To Do” list long, and the tasks unending. I’ve crowded out the One Thing until at best, I’m a smoldering wick, a glowing ember.

Surrendering to the clarity born of truth, I understood His point completely. He really does have only one purpose for me to fulfill…and there really is only one thing He wants from me – to burn.
No matter what I find myself being busied with…no matter what I find myself doing, or how I spend my day…I am to do one thing: Burn.

And suddenly, I felt the God-thought inside of me take focus. Wicks bear light. But in order to be light-bearers, they must be dry…and they must be blackened by fire. In fact, that’s what that dry, charred place in the center of my soul is. It’s my “wick”.
You see, I’ve fretted over the “desert areas” in my heart for most of my life. Wondering how I could’ve been so negligent…thinking that if only I was more spiritually disciplined, there wouldn’t be a single dry spot within me. Hoping that eventually I’d get things right and the dryness would just disappear…or be softened by some super spiritual downpour. But what I now realize is that the dryness is necessary.

Have you ever tried to light a candle that’s wick was wet? It won’t light. Ever tried to light a wick that’s covered in wax? Nope, not a chance of a flame. So lesson # 1 becomes clear: A wick has to be dry.
Lesson #2 is a little harder to embrace, willingly: A wick has to be charred…blackened by fire.

Read any book on hospitality, and one of the “helpful hints” recommended in creating an inviting atmosphere in your home is to char your candle wicks. It lends a sense of hominess and even if the candles aren’t currently burning, it helps your guest to imagine the time when they cast a warm glow throughout the room. Or just ask any wedding planner: if you want candles to light quickly and easily, introduce the wicks to fire before you intend to actually use them. It helps them to burn.


In the solace of my candle-lit sanctuary, my heart began to respond to this new insight, with wonderment. So in order to burn, I need to be dry and charred. Dry and charred. Not exactly the two words I would have chosen for describing my life. Not warm, fuzzy things like: joyful or merciful or compassionate. Dry and charred.

The life-pictures began to flash before my eyes. Dry and charred. I saw the parched desert places where I was forced to wrestle at the core of my being with what I knew and believed of God. I saw the fires of life that I once thought would consume me, leaving me singed, smelling of smoke…and lifeless.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I recounted the times that I have felt the cold, stinging void of faithlessness…desperation…and disillusionment. My heart began to ache as I walked through the fiery memories of betrayal, injustice, and misunderstanding. Engulfed by the heaviness of grief…by the agony of mourning…by the remorse of senseless loss, my emotions felt raw and exposed…and I was undone.
“I was just preparing your wick…”
He whispered soft and low.
“I was just preparing your wick…and now it’s time for you to burn. It’s time to be a light-bearer in the darkness around you. It’s time to let me shine from the dry and charred places in your heart. It’s time for you to step into the very purpose that I fashioned you for…it’s time to burn.”
…“Oh, and one more thing…”
“Yes?” I answered, fearing the worst.
“Don’t forget to dance…”
“Dance?!?” I asked.
“Look at the flames around you. See how each one responds to the gentlest of breezes? As you burn, I don’t want you to forget to dance. Don’t be encumbered by the dryness of the desert or the ferocity of the fires you’ve had to endure. Respond to me with reckless abandon. You see, the flame doesn’t question the trustworthiness or challenge the authority of the wind. It simply whirls about with ease and grace…announcing with great delight it’s very existence.” “So burn for me, beloved. Burn brightly. But in your burning, don’t forget to dance… And as you dance, listen closely, for I am singing over you…”
As I dried myself off and got ready for bed, I felt a peace inside the depths of me unlike any time before. Somehow, in His amazingly wonderful, magnificent way, God had answered a million “Why’s” that ran rampant in the caverns of my heart. It was as if the missing puzzle pieces had miraculously fallen into place, and I could now see the full picture as it was intended to be.

Funny thing, the next time I went to light a candle I made extra special note of that dry, charred wick in the center. A small grin crossed my face, and I’m convinced I heard the slightest whisper in my heart…
“Burn, baby…burn.”

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