Just a Candle

What drove me to this place?  A run-down church on top of a hill in the middle of farmland.  The nearest gas station - the nearest civilized community - must be a good 20 miles away.  I’m used to nighttime in the city where neon lights flash in the once-upon-a-time flashy district.  A place where stars are not bright enough to be seen as the power of man’s electricity drowns their natural ability to twinkle over our world.

Here, outside of some empty country church, I am transfixed at the spot.  Peering up at this great white bell tower that looms over the gravel parking lot.  The only evidence of modern technology is the buzzing street light that emits an eerie glow around this place of worship.  Unlike my life in the city, this place not only allows the stars to smile upon it.  It welcomes those smiles as if they are from old friends meeting up again for a long overdue catch-up.

But why am I here?  I honestly don’t know.  My latest argument with my wife is just one of many.  It has become almost a comforting daily routine that without it, we would think something is wrong.  We argue, usually about how I focus more on my fantasy of writing a book than on her, we go to bed angry with unresolved issues, we wake up for coffee and pretend it never happened.  Something about tonight’s argument, though, literally drove me away from the place.

Tiffany shouted with more conviction than when she said “I do” nearly a decade ago: “I’m tired of your presence.”  That was it.  She was tired of my presence.  In a moment of, I admit, complete weakness, I turned and left.  Not a word.  I just got into my car and drove with music blaring.  I drove out of the city for what felt like days.  I glanced down at my fuel gauge and noticed it getting a bit low and knew I had to stop to relax.  I pulled off the highway on the next exit to look for a town with a gas station and found myself pulling over in this place instead.

Now I grew up in a Christian family, but I never really was a Christian.  It’s not that I don’t believe in God.  There are moments I even pray.  But I’m trying to say that I didn’t pull over at a church because I’m some Bible-thumping believer ready to fall on his knees.  Still, I don’t know what made me stop here.  

Again I ask, what drove me to this place?

Now that I shut my car off and the music was no longer playing, I realized that there was a certain quiet to be had here.  My boss at the publishing firm is big into meditation and requires that everyday at work we take some time to just be quiet.  Nobody really does it, least of all me.  I just pop in some earbuds and work while listening to some music or a podcast or something.  Tonight, looking at this bell tower, being embraced by the twinkling stars, I suddenly realized that maybe my boss had a point.  

My phone beeped and I looked down at it.  It was another missed call from my wife.  Apparently she had been calling and texting  me every few minutes, but I must not have realized since the music was so loud.  I felt conflicted because part of me was happy she was trying to call me.  I would have assumed her anger would have made her let me go.  The other part of me, though, was annoyed that she ruined, even briefly, this moment of serenity.

I ditched the phone in the car and walked into the church.  Unsurprisingly, this church in the country has the full belief that nobody would enter and vandalize or steal anything.  The door was unlocked as if the church always welcomed midnight visitors.  

I have never been in a church at night, unless you count a candlelight service during Christmas.  This was different.  Nothing was turned on except for an electric candle hanging about ten feet above the altar.  It was honestly one of the most frightening experiences I have ever felt, like I was the throw-away character in the opening scene of a horror movie and my neck was about to be slashed.  I would have never thought a church would have been so scary, but this was uncanny and terrifying.

I almost turned and left but for that candle. Just a candle. It was nothing special, but it made me wonder. Who keeps a real candle burning all night?  It gave a soft glow over the statue of Jesus on the altar.  This statue was marble-white and portrayed Jesus as a man with open arms.  He looked as though he were offering his depressed best friend a hug.  That moment took me back on my heels and I remained frozen for a moment longer.

It was just enough time for me to think that I needed to sit down.  I walked up a couple pews and sat. 

That’s all I did.  I sat and looked at Jesus.  I don’t even remember thinking about anything.  I was just lost in a state of blankness.  Me and Jesus.  It was like a staring contest, but he wouldn’t shake his welcoming demeanor.  His face was carved into a smile that seemed to say, “It’s okay, brother.  I am here when you are ready.”

Well I wasn’t ready for whatever it was he wanted me to do.  I certainly wasn’t going to hug a statue bolted onto an altar.  But then my eyes left Jesus briefly and I stared at that ever-burning candle.  Just a simple candle. Something strange and surreal happened in that instant, and I am still at a loss for how to explain this moment.

In that flash-moment, I was struck with an idea that seemed so obvious.  The idea was so powerful that I nearly fell over the pew with excitement.  You see, my wife and I were stuck in this marriage that was nothing more than a city of concrete and artificial light.  It had consumed our marriage and kept our natural love for each other from shining.

I needed to spark that real ever-burning candle again.  It was on me to bring a glow over our marriage like this candle gave a glow over Jesus, like the stars gave a glow over this church.

But more than that, I finally realized what story needed to be told.  I drew out my mini-notebook I always kept in my back pocket and frantically started writing out my thoughts.  It just started to flow.

I don’t know how long I stayed in that church, but it was still dark as I left to go to my car.  I picked up the phone that showed a notification of about a thousand missed calls and texts.  I took a deep breath and called my wife.

“There you are!  Where are you?  Why did you storm out?”

“Honey, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have driven off or ignored your calls.  I need you to know, though, that I just had a moment of inspiration.  I have this fantastic book idea -“

“Your book again?  I don’t want to -“

“Honey, honey, hold on.  Listen.  You have always been right about my obsession with writing some novel that never happens.  But this is different now.  I just realized tonight that you are my inspiration for this novel.  I kept looking for other sources of inspiration, but it was always you.  I drowned you out of my life, but I need you in it.  I don’t care if the book is written or if it fails.  I just want you to be present with me no matter what.  And I want to be present with you.”

There was a pause on the phone.  I held my breath while trying to think of what else to say, but my wife finally spoke.  “I love you.  Can you please come home?”

“I’m on my way.  And honey?”

“Yes?”

“What would you say to moving to the country?”