This little light of mine

The virgin taper is kissed excitedly by the fire of Christ. A flare of flame ignites on the slender white candle, its light flickering and growing brighter, as if gaining strength from the One who created light itself.

He stands beside me, my hand resting on the small of his broad back, willing my love to help support him on this day of acknowledgment. A child-like man, towering at 6'5, stands before strangers, stripped of the masks of pride, ego and shame. Tears of longing, regret and rawness mark their path down his cheeks, and into the hearts of those who listen as his voice relents to emotion, "I have come to proclaim my belief in God."

The path to this moment has been laced with disillusionment and at times obscured by suits and hollow words. God's voice hushed by the urgencies of the day, exposed flaws in man's religious law and personal agendas.

But even shadows cannot exist without light. And the light pointed to signs. Signs to our new home, signed by God himself. His grace filled both our hearts and caused us to feel God and weep with longing. "How precious did that Grace appear the hour I first believed."

And so here he stands, in front of the congregation, hands steadied by his childhood bible, with the worn blue cover and pages tabbed by his five-year old self. Baptismal waters cascade over his brow, washing away the lonliness and hurt, cleansing his soul for rebirth. The sign of God is marked with oil on his forehead.

And the candle is lit. A fire that can never be put out, a fire that thirsts for truth, a fire that pushes the shadows away ~ casting only light. Let it shine.