Once upon a time there was an oil lamp who shone brightly where she had been placed and loved being a light. She lit rooms for people to work and play, to learn and grow, and she felt fulfilled. She was a pretty basic lamp: a small tin reservoir that held her oil, a wick, and a glass chimney. Over time she helped create two more lights – a hearth fire and a campfire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hearth fire was cozy and warm; looking at it evoked images of home. You just knew that there was a pot of something savory and warm bubbling, and fresh bread baking in her coals. Young and old alike drew near for her warmth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The campfire was wilder, the type of fire warriors and hunters gathered around at the end of a long day. People played music and danced around this fire, and it beckoned to those far away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
These lights were not in competition with each other. They were best friends and worked together like yin and yang, sometimes having raucous, friendly competition, and the lamp smiled and shone on both of them. Over the years the lamp had been through some rough patches: there were chips and fine cracks in her glass chimney, but she still shone brightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One day a terrific storm appeared and put out the campfire. The fire had been rained on before, many times, but it had always rebuilt itself from its own embers. This time the fire was completely cold; no sparks of light remained to be seen. The hearth fire grew smaller in pain, drawing back for protection, but the lamp clattered to the floor in shock. Her tin dented, her chimney shattered, and almost all the oil drained from her tin into the floorboards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hearth fire whispered to the lamp, “Let me help you. I will give you some of my light,” and a tiny flame would start, but the lamp was too damaged. A flame could not stay lit. She was placed on a shelf in a cold, dark pantry and left alone. Sometimes she could hear the hearth fire calling to her to come back, to try again, and she did keep trying, but she just could not stay lit. After a while she stopped trying, content to be still and dream about when there was light all around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a small window in the pantry, and the lamp saw the light from the stars and the moon. Somehow, eventually, the lamp understood that light does not really leave; it moves somewhere else, and we can make our own light if we choose. So she refilled her little oil can and trimmed her wick. It took a long time, and it was hard work, because the lamp had neglected herself for so long. But she persisted. Then she spotted several small lights through the window, lights that had been lit by the campfire, and this brought back something she had forgotten. Hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She fashioned herself a new chimney, tin this time, with holes cut into shapes of her favorite things: hearts, flowers, moon, and stars. Then she asked the hearth for help again. This time the flame took hold and grew stronger and brighter. After all, if you have a cover filled with holes, the best thing to do is to shine brighter and show your full beauty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Little Lamp and Her Light Once upon a time there was an oil lamp who shone brightly where she had been placed and loved being a light. She lit…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":38,"featured_media":1700,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[15],"tags":[8,25,21,26,23,19],"class_list":["post-1699","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-grief-experience","tag-coping-with-grief","tag-grief-community","tag-grief-language","tag-loss-of-a-loved-one","tag-shared-grief","tag-support"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n