My friend Tina has (jokingly) taken it upon herself to save us from catching our house on fire. Ever since I scorched the table with an old-fashioned glass votive candle, she has been bringing me candles in solid glass containers. The first one was a red candle in a simply shaped, heavy glass, and while the candle is long gone, the glass is sitting in my jelly cupboard, washed clean and waiting to be used as a serving dish for condiments, such as jelly, sour cream, and sweet pickles.
Just this past Sunday Tina brought me another candle, this one the kind that you find in Catholic churches, a San Miguel. The prayer on the side reads: “Archangel do for me what I am unable to do for myself. Defend me, make me feel thy strong compelling force. Remember the weak, you who are so strong. I am so weak and need your help. Archangel grant me this request we address to you. Amen.”
It’s a pretty candle with a good prayer, but while Tina’s doing a fine job of covering our candle bases, I don’t think there’s much she can do about the plastic broom bristles that Yo-Yo spitefully brushed over our piping hot wood stove, causing the house to reek of burning chemicals. Or about one of the children (was it The Baby Nickel?) who handed me a box of matches while I was talking on the phone—I still don’t know from whence they came. Or about Mr. Handsome demanding “What’s burning!” as we sat down to dinner and then discovering that The Baby Nickel had singed a clump of hair when he was peering into the San Miguel candle.
These little occurrences, all of them, happened in the course of a couple days, so I’m saying a loud AMEN to that angel prayer ... that is, if its candle doesn’t burn our house down first.