The Flame of the First Candle

“The first candle shines on its throne of lush green needles, brightening the dark hours of early dusk and warming our souls with its radiant glow. Lit as a prayer of hope, it burns on every evening until all four wishes have been spoken over the earth and each candle carries with its spark the idea up into the canopy of stars. So that the world may be blessed with hope, peace, love and joy.”

A smile flickered across her lips as she read the lines. A heartening thought, one she was glad to believe in. All those people offering their wishes to one another. Was that not precisely what made us so unique? Yet how often do we forget these kind words in our lives and meet one another with resentment, simply because we do not know what is happening inside the other person?

She lifted her gaze from the book and looked out of the window. The wind drove the white winter snow before it in wild, unrestrained dances until the flakes reached the ground and wrapped everything in a cold blanket. Only a few people walked through the snow, wrapped in such thick clothing that they were almost unrecognizable. Where children still played in the gardens on autumn evenings, there now lay an untouched sheet of snow.

She remembered a winter when she herself had still been small. The lightness that comes with being young, and the fierce delight in everything around her. The snowy landscape that seemed almost enchanted, as if each breath of wind held a story to be told. The ice that lay on the lake like glass and, when she stepped onto it, gave off an almost mystical crackling that rang through the whole expanse. Yet now, people no longer took the time to walk out into the snow, to feel it crunch beneath their shoes, without at once complaining about the cold.

Fairy lights hung in the windows and on the trees, sparkling in the darkness and bathing the empty street in a gentle glow. The stillness of the world awoke in this early darkness, and in that quiet all her memories and thoughts seemed so much louder than in any other season. The loneliness weighed heavily on her shoulders.

It was a sense of being lost that always came over her when the days grew shorter. A feeling that had been with her for a long time. In the rush of everyday life it seemed hidden beneath everything the day demanded. But now, when night descended on the world already in the afternoon and the silence enclosed all things, she was alone with her thoughts. It was as if something were missing, something she had not yet found. She felt that it had never truly been part of her life, and still she missed it. She did not feel lonely or abandoned, only not complete. Incomplete and not yet at her destination. Yet what would come, what waited for her if she were to find it? She sighed. That answer would not be found so easily.

Carefully, she set the book down on the small wooden table beside the armchair she had placed in front of the wide window. Then she looked out into the night once more, where the snow was covering the sleeping world with an ever thicker blanket.

Was this what the first candle meant? The wish that hope would not fade. The hope that one day she might be whole. The hope of knowing what she lacked, and of feeling it when it stood before her. And that, when the weight threatened to crush her, the hope would remain for a better time.

Never to lose hope, that was something she wished for people. Everyone should carry hope in their heart. When things are hard, it should glow like a spark inside and grow into a fire that enfolds everything in a kind of rapture so that you can go on when your strength has run out. When worries threaten to smother the flame, the embers of hope should flare up anew, like a fire that never quite dies.

The ringing of her phone broke through her thoughts. The joyful voice at the other end of the line brightened the mood in the room, it was a friend she had not spoken to in a long time. They had much to tell each other, and although such calls were rare, these moments felt as if everyday life had never slipped in between them. It was these moments that made her own flame leap up bright. The small things that made the loneliness and the waiting bearable. The things that gave her trust that everything would find its way and everything had its own time.