beeswax

This morning, I read the 12th chapter of Matthew by the light of a beeswax candle that had been shaped by the hands of my youngest son.  I hope he doesn’t mind me spending the candle to half its original size in this way - without him being present to the light, for the most part anyway.  He entered the room 45 minutes or so into its burning, put his soft right hand on my left shoulder and just ever so slightly gave me a gentle pat of “good morning,” of validation, of affection, of “I’m glad it’s you, Dad.”