Many of you know that I've been working on a novel for a couple of years. Today I was pecking away at the story in the study where I love to do all things contemplative. I light a candle nearly any time I set foot in here. The one gracing this space right now has amber notes in it. It's strong, the way I like them and intoxicatingly fragrant in the best possible way.
For the first time since I purchased this wonderful candle, I smelled the one from the kitchen wafting over its glorious brass band tones. This wouldn't be particularly noteworthy except that the one in the kitchen is a leftover from last fall that really disappointed me. I had a terrible time smelling it. I remember thinking it was just heavenly, as long as I was willing to nearly set my nose on fire. In fact, I ordered it again this year, but in the two-wick version in the hopes that a deeper wax pool would strengthen the scent throw. The one muscling past my amber candle is not the new, but the old, weak candle. Why is it suddenly running amok in the house, doing what I had so deeply desired for it to do last year?
The best possible answer is that, as it burned today, the flame hit a level in the candle where the scent oils had concentrated. I don't know if that is even possible, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me. Same house, same nose (mine), same candle. Ever more powerful scent.
I'm praying that God, in all of his sovereign ability, majesty and might, would take my efforts, the concoction that is me, and use me differently in this season of my life. I hope that I would somehow, through the influence of years and urgency of the grave rushing up to me, become something, someone He can use in new and better ways. I don't want to burn out, but rather burn up, my last gasp of air on this earth a prayer to Him. Only God can do this!
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