I'm standing in the huge church, and excitement is rising in my veins. I've never been to Jerusalem before. The darkness surrounds me, closing me in, but I'm not scared - I know my mom is right next to me. Just to make sure, though, I stretch out my hand and brush against her familiar skin. I can feel her smiling at me, and she hands me something long and smooth. I lift it to my nose and inhale deeply. It's a beeswax candle, and it feel so big in my fingers that I put both hands around it. I clutch it tightly to keep my hands from shaking. This is it. The big moment.

"No, not now, but soon," mom whispers to me.

Everyone around me feels the same way, I can hear it in the way the breath of the church itself seems to quicken. A tension builds in the air, and I strain my eyes, trying to see anything through the thick darkness. I can't help myself and start jumping up and down until my dad swoops me up in his arms. Now I can see a little better from the moonlight shining in through the stain glass windows. The rows and rows of bishops and priests were lined up all the way from the altar to the back of the church, and every one is clutching a candle just as tightly as I am.

Suddenly I can feel it, a sort of crackling that rumbles deep into my very bones and shakes me. A small spark flashes high at the top of the domed roof, and everyone's eye is drawn up to it. We all hold our candles, millions of hungry wicks waiting for The Flame. The spark grows bigger and bigger until I can see my mom's excited face and upraised arm. Soon, I begin to see flames licking down the side of the dome, reaching out towards our candles. I'm frightened, too frightened to shrink down in my dad's protecting arms. My fingers close even tighter on my candle as I watch the sluggish, subdued movement of the white flames.

Then the archbishop's enormous candle catches and rises up brightly. It's like a signal. A bright flash from the dome washes over all of us, and though we cover our eyes, it burns into our very souls. The imprint of that flame stays in my mind's eye to this day, and I cannot close my eyes without seeing the bright, heavenly flash in my vision. The candle with my fingerprints deep in its soft wax blooms into flame, and I can feel it almost floating out of my hand with the power of The Flame.

At first I can only gaze deep into the flame, more white and pure than anything I've ever seen - whiter than a lily on the first day of summer, whiter than the sheets in our hotel room, whiter than the wings of a moth fluttering around a porch light. I feel like I could stare into the smokeless fire for an eternity, but I blink and break my gaze away. Now the church is alight with millions of dots of The Flame, spreading it's grace to all of us.

I look over at my mother and gasp in fright to see that she is holding her hand directly in the flame. Her eyes are shining even more than when my little brother was born. The fire doesn't burn her hand, but it doesn't just go around it either. Instead, the flames are absorbed into her skin, and give peace to her soul.

I don't think I have the courage to hold even my little finger in The Flame, but I return my gaze to the tip of m y candle. I silently swear that I will never let it go out. I've never felt so close to God before. Glancing up, I see that The Flame has vanished from the dome, but I don't feel a loss. The Flame is with us now, and forever, to the ages of ages.