hitthegroundboys
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In the village of Gladstone, England, an angel lights up the room of a candlemaker and his wife, awakening them on the final Saturday of Advent. Silent, the angel touches one candle and swiftly disappears. Too hundred years later in 1864, the candlemaker's descendant, Edward Haddington, and his wife, Bea, prepare to share the legend of the Christmas Candle with the town's newest rector, Reverend David Richmond, a cold and skeptical young man. In the excerpt below, Edward and Bea reveal the wonders that follow the candle when it is bestowed on those who need a miracle the most.
He leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe as though he'd finished the story. Indeed, he thought he had. Bea had to jog him. "Edward, tell him about the Christmas Candle."
"Oh, of course. Yes, well, as Bea said, some of the details died in the river along with my father. But what I and all of Gladstone know it this.
"Papa Edward had passed a bitterly cold Saturday evening dipping candles for the Sunday service. Being the night before the final Sunday in Christmas Advent, he'd made more than usual. To this day I still do. We stand them in the windowsills and give them to the choir to hold as they sing. We've always enjoyed yuletide services and large church crowds during December. Is it the same where you're from, Reverend? Why, I remember one year when Reverend Pillington arranged for a chorus from St. John's at Chadwick to join us. Bands of folks from three and four miles away came to sing the old, old songs."
He leaned forward and, with twinkling eyes and a bouncing head, sang a verse:
"Peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor!
Goodwill and peace 'twixt class and class!
Let old with new, let Prince with boor
Send round the bowl, and drain the class!"
"Edward." Bea placed a hand on his. "The candle."
"Oh yes. The candle. Where were we?"
"The night before the final Sunday in the Advent," Reverend Richmond aided.
"Right Papa Edward and his wife were sound asleep when brightness exploded in the room. You would have thought a curtain had been yanked opened at noonday. A bonfire couldn't have been brighter. They sat up and saw a glowing angel. They watched him touch one of the candles and then disappear. Papa Edward grabbed it, looked at his wife, and the two spent the rest of the night wondering what had just happened."
"The had no idea what to think, Reverend," Bea continued. "They went to Sunday services saying nothing about the angel's visit. They feared people would think they were crazy. Before they left, however, Mrs. Haddington gave the candle away. Touched by the plight of a young widow, she gave her the candle and urged her to light it and pray."
Edward picked up the story. "Each Christmas Eve church members are invited to stand and share a blessing. Well, imagine who stood first that year?"
"The young woman?" asked the reverend.
"She was a changed person. A generous uncle had provided for her needs, and Grandmother and Grandfather Haddington wondered about a connection between the candle and the gift, but they drew no conclusion."
Edward took a drink from his glass. When he did, Bea spoke up. "Half by hope and half by obligation, they continued to hang extra candles each eve of the final Advent Sunday. Then, after a quarter of a century, the December night glowed, and an angel touched another candle. Papa Edward gave it to a shepherd who was searching for his son. The father found the son, shared the news at the Christmas Eve service, and Grandmother and Grandfather knew something special was happening."
He leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe as though he'd finished the story. Indeed, he thought he had. Bea had to jog him. "Edward, tell him about the Christmas Candle."
"Oh, of course. Yes, well, as Bea said, some of the details died in the river along with my father. But what I and all of Gladstone know it this.
"Papa Edward had passed a bitterly cold Saturday evening dipping candles for the Sunday service. Being the night before the final Sunday in Christmas Advent, he'd made more than usual. To this day I still do. We stand them in the windowsills and give them to the choir to hold as they sing. We've always enjoyed yuletide services and large church crowds during December. Is it the same where you're from, Reverend? Why, I remember one year when Reverend Pillington arranged for a chorus from St. John's at Chadwick to join us. Bands of folks from three and four miles away came to sing the old, old songs."
He leaned forward and, with twinkling eyes and a bouncing head, sang a verse:
"Peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor!
Goodwill and peace 'twixt class and class!
Let old with new, let Prince with boor
Send round the bowl, and drain the class!"
"Edward." Bea placed a hand on his. "The candle."
"Oh yes. The candle. Where were we?"
"The night before the final Sunday in the Advent," Reverend Richmond aided.
"Right Papa Edward and his wife were sound asleep when brightness exploded in the room. You would have thought a curtain had been yanked opened at noonday. A bonfire couldn't have been brighter. They sat up and saw a glowing angel. They watched him touch one of the candles and then disappear. Papa Edward grabbed it, looked at his wife, and the two spent the rest of the night wondering what had just happened."
"The had no idea what to think, Reverend," Bea continued. "They went to Sunday services saying nothing about the angel's visit. They feared people would think they were crazy. Before they left, however, Mrs. Haddington gave the candle away. Touched by the plight of a young widow, she gave her the candle and urged her to light it and pray."
Edward picked up the story. "Each Christmas Eve church members are invited to stand and share a blessing. Well, imagine who stood first that year?"
"The young woman?" asked the reverend.
"She was a changed person. A generous uncle had provided for her needs, and Grandmother and Grandfather Haddington wondered about a connection between the candle and the gift, but they drew no conclusion."
Edward took a drink from his glass. When he did, Bea spoke up. "Half by hope and half by obligation, they continued to hang extra candles each eve of the final Advent Sunday. Then, after a quarter of a century, the December night glowed, and an angel touched another candle. Papa Edward gave it to a shepherd who was searching for his son. The father found the son, shared the news at the Christmas Eve service, and Grandmother and Grandfather knew something special was happening."