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There appears to be no set pattern as to when this delicate, yet tenacious little flame is lit, but I suspect that the person who lights it and leaves it, dearly loves someone in this dark and lonely place.
During the daylight hours, it is easy to see mature trees, colourful flowers and thick bushes among the various shaped granite stones. But in the late evening, everything disappears, and the darkness rules.
This small flame is a powerful light. It pivots energetically, its crown leaping freely from side to side as though it was trying to escape its tether. The night wind is teased into thinking that it could extinguish it in a moment, and yet it continues to burn, casting riveting rays toward any observer. This light is the only thing that can be seen, and it makes no apology for its vigil or existence.
Maybe this is similar to what the angels saw when they stood on the balconies of heaven the night that Jesus was born. They, too, were looking into a spiritually dark and lonely place, and the Light that they saw in that Bethlehem manger was the One who later declared that He was the "Light of the world" (John 8:12). No wonder the heavenly host sang loudly and eagerly, "Glory to God in the highest", and left a message to the onlookers of "Peace on earth and good will toward men".
Since seeing that flickering flame, I do two things differently now. First, I sing Christmas carols with renewed fervour. Second, I realize how important my light is in this dark and lonely world. I remind myself daily that the winds of this world will try to extinguish my flame, so I must carefully guard it. I must let it shine even when I am alone and afraid. The winds of worry and public pressure may threaten to extinguish this light, but it is a light given to me by my God, and I must let it shine (Matthew 5:16).
Jerry Raaf lives in Abbotsford, B.C.
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