Keeping the pilot light lit.

When our father died, my brother and I bought a house in New Hampshire. I think we were searching for a place of safety, a retreat from uncertainty, and space to give voice to our deep sadness, so we bought an old stone chapel. It was called the “Wayside Chapel,” and it had recently been converted into a unique home. I remember many things about the place, the wood burning stove, huge bookcase, and bathroom located in what had been the bell tower, complete with a stained glass window. It was a special place and will always hold my heart in its hand.

This morning, however, I am reminded of what a drafty place it was. In the winter, it was as if the wind blew right through the rocks. Sitting at candlelit meals, the flames more than flickered in the breeze. One of our on-going struggles was to keep the pilot light of our furnace on. The breeze would continuously come under the door of the furnace room and blow out the pilot light, which gave us about an hour before the cold house awakened us to the problem.

I am embarrassed that the life-lesson the chapel was trying to teach me took thirty-three years to learn, but I now see what the pilot light and breeze were trying to teach.

I have been born with a pilot light, a small blue flame burning quietly within, waiting to ignite my being and bring warmth to the world around me. It is a primal light, maybe given to me at birth, but it resides out of site and often goes unnoticed or forgotten.  When needed, though, it is there to bring my true self to life.

More often than I would like to admit, however, breezes have caused my pilot light to go out. Unprotected or maintained, the light has been left on its own, and relentless winds have found there way through rocks and under doors.

In time, the cold awakens me to what's happened, and I need to relight the flame. The torches are many: sitting quietly, going to church, talking with a trusted friend, going for a walk, sitting by a stream, looking out at the ocean, listening to music, looking at a piece of art, going to a 12-step recovery meeting, and reading an inspirational work. All of these, and more, are effective tools for relighting the pilot light within, but I also need to be mindful of the cracks and gaps through which the breezes flow. Part of me wants to make my house air tight, but, like the Wayside Chapel, there will always be breezes that find their way inside.

Today, I am grateful to have a flame at all, and will do what I can to keep it lit.