Tip of My Iceberg

In an era of wonderfully scented candles and fancy candle holders, plain Jane candles don’t often–well, hold a candle to them.

When John and I were dating back in prehistoric times, we had a little Italian restaurant we’d go to–a hole in the wall, quaint type of place–with red checked tablecloths and candles dripped over wine bottles that softly lit each table. We’d have dinner and talk about things in this dimly lit place that was charming and romantic.

I remember nothing of the food. I remember the candles. During periods of silence, we’d watch the wax weave it’s way down the wine bottle, leaving a raised trail that was an invitation to an adventure. There was a gentle magic in how each candle was different. The trails of wax weren’t planned or prescribed. They happened. Young and in love, life beckoned us with that same sense of adventure.

Fast forward a multitude of years. We’ve a plethora of scented candles around the house. Many remnants of holiday aromas like balsam pine and cranberry. We’ve others, and they all smell wonderful. They mask nasty cooking scents in the kitchen and those stronger odors from the bathroom.

This Christmas I found some dripping candles in a craft store. Reminiscent of days gone by. We got a couple of bottles and stuck in these waxy sticks and let them flame away.

They look gorgeous.

I’ve had random tapers that I’ve kept over time, goodness knows why. But when one set was dripped out, I’d put others in. The dripping would continue and the bottles are slowly becoming covered. I love working at the kitchen table with them lit in the evening. It’s a great distraction from the rest of the house screaming to be cleaned when I’ve other things I need to do. Unmopped floors, undusted furniture, messy countertops fade in the dim light of these candles.

I love beautiful candle holders and the variety of the scented candles.

The simplicity of a unique creation of an old wine bottle and dripping wax makes me smile.

There’s relevance in old ideas.

As Solomon wisely said, “There’s nothing new under the sun.”

He wasn’t talking technology or new inventions. He was referring to our thinking, desires, perspectives, attitudes–none of which are new. What was a struggle thousands of years ago as far as getting along with others, learning to live with differences, caring for all people well are the same struggles we deal with today.

With fancy new outfits.

It’s easy to want what’s new and exciting. The next great cell phone. The next level computer. Anything to make my life easier.

I struggled with the same challenges in my life when I didn’t have a cell phone. Or a computer. New stuff doesn’t change who I am. I could update my looks, address and skills, and I’d still be this person with these challenges.

The only way we can become new is through a relationship with Jesus. His power changes us. Updates us.

Even though He’s as reliable as those old fashioned candles.