On Burning Candles

One of my life long friends bought candles she never burned. On an end table they sat. Stick your nose close to the wax, and you'd inhale dust instead of sweet fragrance.

"I don't want to use them," she'd giggle. "I'm saving them for a special occasion."

Unfortunately, special occasions don't always appear on a lazy Tuesday or a busy Wednesday.

So, the candles remained unlit, and the joy from the glowing wick unseen.

Recently, I read something about saving your writing.

One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like the well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes. Annie Dillard, Write Till You Drop

Sure this applies to writing, but wow, doesn't it apply to life?

We save the good tablecloth. Who wants to get it dirty?
We save the hard talks. Who wants to interrupt the day?
We save fun times. Who wants to stop homework?

Today I pray you see the amazing in a special Wednesday. Use up the good stuff. Remember to spend every kind thought, make homemade salsa and eat it with lime chips, and light those candles. Don't wait. Don't save it.

Question for you: Is there something you tend to save but should use? The idea that's floating around your head? The black dress? The free babysitting offered by the neighbor? The overdue apology?

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