The Wreath: Part 1

"Weef! Weef!" three-year-old Lucy shouted with joy.

"Okay, just a moment," her mother carefully stepped around the excited child, holding aloft the golden candle holder with fake evergreen boughs wrapped around it.

They made their way over to the dining room table where Lucy climbed on to a chair and bounced excited on her knees. "Weef! Weef!"

"Yes, it's time for us to light the wreath together," her mother said.

"Me! Me!" Lucy reached her chubby little hand for the boxes of matches her mother was pulling out of the cupboard.

"No, you're too little still. But you can watch." She struck a match and held it to the wick. The flame passed over to the candle, a brief flare, then the flame settled in.

"Yeah!" Lucy clapped her hands.

"And now, the first prayer."

They both bowed their heads and her mother prayed.

This ritual continued every year until Lucy was seven. Every year she reached her hand for the matches, asking in more completely formed sentences every year to be allowed to light them candles. And every year her mother declined.

"Can I carry it?" Lucy asked as her mother pulled the Advent wreath from the closet on the first Sunday of Advent. This had been her job for the last three years.

"Of course." Her mother handed it over. "Be careful. We don't want to break it. I inherited this from my father."

"I know." Lucy skipped across the room, the wreath clutched close. She carefully bypassed a pile of stuffed animals and an unfinished game of Guess Who. She ran up to the dining room table and carefully set the wreath out, straightening out a few bent branches. "Ready!"

Her mother pulled the matches out of the top cupboard in the kitchen, and the two of them sat down at the table, just as they did together after dinner every Sunday in Advent.

"Alright, it's time to light the first candle." Her mother slid open the small box, removed a single match, then shut the box again.

"Can I light it?" Lucy's question was almost rote at this point. She knew what the answer would be, but she was compelled to ask anyway.

"Actually, I think you are old enough," her mother said.

"Really?" Lucy was shocked.

Her mother held up the finger of warning and waggled it back and forth. "But, you can only use matches or lighters when an adult is helping, okay?"

Lucy nodded, her body shaking from excitement. "Okay."

Her mother handed over the small little stick of wood. Lucy stared at it. She ran a finger gently along, feeling the rough wood and the inverted red teardrop on the end.

"That's the part you strike against the box. Let me show you." She reached out her hand.

"I wanna do it," Lucy said, clinging tightly to the match.

"You can do it. I just wanted to show you how."

Her mother, using the plain end of the match, show Lucy how to run it along the bumpy patch on the side of the box. Then, she showed her how to hold the match, tip it towards the candle, and then blow it out. "And finally, place it on the metal, here. We'll run it under water to make sure it's out after our prayer."

Hands trembling slightly, Lucy held the match and box. The first two times, fearing burning herself, she struck too quickly and lightly.

"A little slower," her mother said. "You'll be okay. I'm right here."

The third time, the match lit up. As the flame burst forth, she stared at it, amazed she had created this fire.

"Light the candle," her mother gently prompted.

Lucy lit the candle, then blew out the candle with more spit than was necessarily required.

"Now, the prayer," her mother said.

Lucy folded her hands and bowed her head.

"As we light this first candle of Advent, we await your birth, Jesus. We are filled with hope for Christmas. Be with us this week as we seek to share that hope with others. Amen."

"Amen!" Lucy leapt up from the table, running off to the play room to pretend to light candles for the rest of the evening.