Guest Blogger ... Louise Caiola

Pearl Girl: Louise Caiola

Pearl of Wisdom: We are never too far from our humble beginnings to forget the beauty in simplicity.

Favorite Verse: Nahum 1:3 The Message: “God is the creator of all things great and small. Let us be open to gratitude, even at the least obvious moments.”

Pennies from Heaven

The heat of the summer, in Long Island, New York in 1974 brought a blistering sun and a sheet of humidity that draped itself over everything until it was damp to the touch. The days borrowed hours from some time in the future when they’d be less apt to be missed. Yet when they finally dwindled into the steamy dusk, and the skies gathered clouds together to relieve themselves, the kids in the streets below didn’t run away. Scrawny arms and legs, gangly growing bodies and faces in the process of changing from cherubic to awkward met the coming of the rain with an enthusiasm usually reserved for the bells of the ice cream truck or a birthday gift.

I took my place among the gathering of twelve year old counterparts, waiting in a red, white and blue two-piece bathing suit with freshly scraped knees from an afternoon’s game of jump rope gone bad. The first clap of thunder announced the arrival of lukewarm showers worthy of dancing in, deserving of open mouths with tongues outstretched and filling up potholes that became sloppy little pools before long. We tossed our heads back, inviting the water to run through our hair making sporadic rows of moist strands that clung to our neck and down the sides of young, eager shoulders.

Fast forward some thirty years and I am standing behind a tear streaked window glass inside my home, watching as the rain continued to fall for the fourth consecutive day. “Not again,” I groaned. A song verse ran through my head, “Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven.” I pushed it away. Tell that to my latest pair of soggy nylons courtesy of the puddle I stepped in while rushing through the previous nights deluge. Age and time had a way of turning sweetly sung phrases into a matter of opinion. I hardly ever considered the rain as a present from above anymore, much less one with any value. Rather it was a gloomy event; forcing folks to flock indoors or hide under umbrellas should they be forced to venture out. I had to wonder what happened to that girl, the one who sought out rainbows in the oil slicks on black tarred roadways when the sun finally emerged. What had become of her?

Perhaps there had been one too many warm midnight wishes lost in the cool morning’s dew. I learned the hard way that even choosing the brightest star did not ensure a happy ending. Relationships don’t always last. Children grow up and leave home. I was placed, misplaced, pushed, pulled, challenged and failed, and taught that a broken heart heals, but the scars remain. Each disappointment brought with it a dose of reality. Each harsh life lesson ushered in another reason to duck and cover from the rain, instead of tipping my head back to delight in its gentle benediction.

I took another look outside. On the lawn was the dogwood tree; its bare, twisted branches swaying to and fro. She was a pretty old gal who spent her days doing nothing more than providing shade while she waited for April to bring her buds to life. Yet in that instant I saw her dance. I saw her limbs reach out and up toward the sky to embrace the gift of that water. It fed and nurtured her. I witnessed a show of appreciation for the offering of nourishment. A celebration. I remembered it well. I thought about the oceans I had swam in and the rivers and streams there for my amusement on rafting and fishing trips. Surely they were thankful. And what of the farmers crop and the acres of forest and foliage for hiking and picnics?

Would they too be waiting with eager open mouths to rejoice in the coming of the rains?

Without water there would not be life. And it is through God’s grace that we receive this gift of life. It is written in Nahum 1:3 that The Lord hath His way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet. It seemed I had forgotten, in the hustle and bustle of my world, about the silver lining. It is His light and it is ever present, even in the darkest of days and times when it’s most difficult to see through the raindrops.

The dawn came with the return of a cerulean sky, the perfect canvas for a brilliant sunrise to help dry things off. Walking slowly to my car, I paused to glance upward where a quiet patch of pale grey was starting to fade. The footprint was unmistakable and then all at once it was gone. He walks with us. What a joy to know that we are never alone. A smile pressed my lips as one tiny drop fell from a branch of the dogwood landing on my forehead, a penny from heaven. I was thankful.

Louise Caiola is a writer, dreamer, creative spirit, mother and dog owner, who lives in New York and can always be found with a pen in her hand. She is currently at work on her first novel and is a frequent contributor to www.FaithHopeandFiction.com, a growing e-literary magazine.

posted by Margaret McSweeney @ 4:28 AM