A Candle, And Much More

It always amazes me how some traditions take shape- quietly, guided by the candlelight of one person. And become much more.

Growing up, annual Christmas Eve party was our mom’s gift to her children, and to our friends and family alike.

For weeks ahead of time, Mama, my sister, and I bake, planned, taste-tested, and prepared for the gathering. The stand-up freezer in the basement became filled with lasagnas, pies, and decadent treats that became traditions of their own, our mom talking us through her recipes, and so many stories of her Italian upbringing in Boston, and of her large character-filled family. Somehow, teenage battles and angst feel aside, and gave way to something much more.

At 6pm on Christmas Eve, a stream of headlights would begin to shine up our long driveway as guests began to arrive… with dishes to share, kids bundled up with rosy cheeks and sleds… and bountiful merriment and laughter. There was barely a space in our little home to move with all of the people present. Oh what fun! At about 7:30pm, before everyone headed home, we gathered in the living room... packed in like sardines, children and grown-ups alike... Paul Currier brought out his guitar, we passed around worn lyric booklets, and we sang Christmas carols together. Our house was filled to the brim... with far more than people! Oh so much more! It was my favorite time of the year. My favorite NIGHT of the year.

After the gathering, families drifted home with children buzzing with anticipation… eyes turned upward toward the night sky, eagerly watching and listening… for the sound of sleigh bells in the sky or reindeer on the rooftops… for any sign that magic was near.

Everyone in our family did a speedy full-house clean-up, and then we made our way to the Congregational Church in East Andover for the Christmas Eve midnight service.

The white church on the hill was always at its fullest on that night… full of people and also something much more. How I loved that Christmas Eve church service! Near the end of the hour, someone would walk down the two aisles carrying a candle with a single flickering flame. They would stop at each pew, lighting the candle of the person at the end, who would then turn and light the candle of the person next to them. I remember holding my breath as my candle caught the flame, then how I turned to pass it along. One by one, the light moved, until what had been a darkened church only moments before was glowing entirely by candlelight. And much more.

Though my mama hasn’t been with us for many, many years, and the last time I sat in that little church was when I was a teenager, the candlelight of both still reverberates. It continues to ripple outward, shaping the ways we gather, the traditions we hold, and the light we pass along.

That’s what stays with me. Not just the memory of it, but the knowing that this light is ongoing. The flame continues to light up everything around it, longing for the moments it can be carried onward. How do we turn to gather it? How do we turn to share it?

Sometimes that light sings out loud, filling a room. Sometimes it moves quietly, passed hand to hand, flame to flame.

Either way, it grows when we offer it. Grows into much more. ‘Is it the candle that holds the flame?’, I’ve asked myself countless times. The answer, I am convinced, the gift, is that we are each a flame.

Thank you from every one of us at Artisans and far beyond for holding that candle… for being the flame we each pass on. Thank YOU for being… so much more.

-MVierzen