Well, it appears that I underestimated the conclusion to Nandi's story; they say that the number seven represents wholeness and completion, so I suppose it's only right that the story is resolved in 7 rather than 6 installments.
Therefore, today, please enjoy the sixth installment of Rainy Days. The 7th and concluding installment should be completed Friday or Saturday at the latest (for some reason, I'm expected to actually WORK when I'm at work, go figure). You can find the fifth installment here.
I looked back into the gazebo, searching for possible clues as to the child’s intentions. The two chaise lounges and wrought iron bistro table and chairs were exactly as they had been during my last visit. The mosquito netting and sheer white gauzy curtains provided the space with an enclosed intimacy, by design, as it were. This was a favorite spot for Kai and me; a place for dreams, a place for planning, a place for loving.
I caught sight of light reflecting off metal on the cedar planked floorboard, near the entry. I can’t believe I’d missed that before. It was a bowl, now empty except for remnants of some type of meat. I took a quick sniff but was unable to identify it. I was pretty certain that it had not been here during my last visit, besides, the meat was still moist. I took one last look down the path the child had taken and wondered what she had been doing here.
Thoughts about the mysterious child stayed with me for the rest of that afternoon and were the first thing on my mind upon awakening the next morning. I entertained several scenarios about the child's identity and possible purpose on my property, and dismissed as many as I kept. She was far too young to be wondering around alone. So, where were her parents? She looked well cared for, clean and healthy, so that would seem to rule out that she may be lost or homeless. I didn’t recognize her as one of the neighborhood children who used to hang around with Micah, but maybe her family was new to the community?
I decided to head down to the gazebo and wait to see if the child returned. I dressed quickly and headed across the lawn. I settled myself into one of the lounges and prepared myself for patience.
It was a beautiful summer morning. The type of day Kai used to refer to as “God’s Day”. The first time he used that phrase I found it curious and laughingly asked him what he meant. It was during one of our weekend pilgrimages to our time-share in Seaside, off the Gulf of Mexico, roughly 40 miles from Panama City. I think it was probably Labor Day weekend, the year before Micah was born. We had decided to take advantage of the long three-day weekend. It was the morning after our arrival; we were awakened by sunlight glowing through white cotton curtains that blew rhythmically in and out of our room and the sounds of birds barely awake. We curled up together on a soft rope hammock in the shade of the wide screened front porch. I can almost feel the gentle sea breezes evaporating the moisture on my skin as I recalled his words.
“Days like this remind me of the presence, magnitude and favor of God,” he spoke reverently, all earnest sincerity now. “When I take in the beauty that surrounds us daily and the bounty of the earth that nurtures and sustains us, I am reminded of WHO He is. If there was ever any doubt in my mind about whether God lived and loved me, on days like this, He shows me what kind of provider He is.”
I took in the beauty of the morning around me, allowing myself to sink into the peace and to find comfort once again in Kai’s arms and God’s love. The sudden squawk of a nearby black bird taking flight from the brush startled me back to surroundings and with it, came the return of my anger and cynicism.
“If You really loved me, you wouldn’t have taken my family! You wouldn't have left me to go through this alone, without help or comfort. If You love me now, give it back! Give me back my peace and joy. Give me the ability to love and receive love again,” I challenged my unseen God.
Silence.
Hmpf! Figures!
And then, the sound of a high pitched childish voice raised in song, penetrated my churning thoughts. I suddenly remembered my purpose in the gazebo and looked around hopefully, surprisingly anxious to see the mysterious little girl again. The words of her song were suddenly clear as she stood outside the entrance to the gazebo,
“Jesus loves me this I know,” I was suddenly breathless, “for the bible,” the song ended abruptly as the child caught sight of me on the lounge.
She was a breathtakingly beautiful little girl. She was similarly dressed as yesterday in a white cotton shift and bare feet, which were oddly dirt-free. Her hair was neatly combed into two curly afro puffs on each side of her head. Her complexion was as creamy and smooth as milk chocolate.
But it was her eyes that held and captivated me. They were as bright and round as two silver dollars; her little cupie doll mouth formed an oval shaped ‘O’ as she absorbed my unexpected presence. While her surprise was evident, she did not appear frightened and made no effort to leave. She boldly met my eyes as she took her measure of me; after a few seconds, she seemed to resolve some sort of internal struggle.
“Hi,” she said simply.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I responded, “what are you doing here?”
She acknowledged my greeting with an even wider smile, but chose to ignore my question as she ventured further into the gazebo. I took note of the canvas tote she had thrown over her shoulder.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed, apparently delighted at some new discovery. I observed her walking towards the discarded, empty bowl from yesterday. She kneeled down next to the bowl, set the canvas tote at her feet and began to remove the contents.
“What’s your name, honey?” I inquired, my fascination with her actions in direct contrast with my annoyance at being ignored by this young diva.
She continued removing things from the bag as if I had not spoken and as if she were alone. She peeled back the lid on a plastic container. At least the source of the mystery meat was revealed, I thought. The child started emptying the food into the bowl just as I started to ask her about it. Then,
“Shush, I hear him.”
Did that child just ‘shush’ me?
“Here? Who?” I inquired, curious in spite of myself. Just then, I could hear the scratching noises that seem to emanate from the floorboard. I stepped closer, just as a small, furry head revealed itself, scrambling to get to the offering provided by the child.
It was a puppy!? Or at least, it would be a puppy if it had more weight on it, if its hair covered its body more evenly, and perhaps, was given a bath. This was the most pitiable creature I had ever seen. It was evident just to look at it, that this puppy did not have long to be in this world. Not only was it starving, but judging by the wounds barely healing across its little body, it had been horribly abused as well. I could see pus blending in with mud and who knows what else was covering that poor thing.
What in the world was this child doing with this possibly diseased puppy? Where in the heck was her mama? Her folk? Just as I was about to start demanding answers and forcibly pulling her away from the animal, she started to sing again,
“He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands.” She continued to sing softly to the puppy as she coaxed it fully from its hiding place. The puppy was barely able to stand and was visibly trembling as it moved cautiously towards her. She made no sudden movement or any efforts to pull the puppy towards her. Her restraint was an amazing thing to watch, given her age. She patiently waited while the puppy assessed her scent and decided whether or not it could trust her.
“Where did it come from?” I inquired.
So intent was the animal on assessing the little girl, it had totally failed to realize that she was not alone. The sound of my voice startled it so completely that it tipped over and then began a frantic attempt right itself again. As soon as it regained its footing, it disappeared back into its hiding place under the floor.
“Now look what you did!” she demanded, turning furious eyes on me, “you’ve scared him!” She was so outdone with me that she all but stomped her little foot for emphasis.
Before I could offer her an apology, Whoa! Apology? What am I apologizing for? She had already turned and kneeled on the floor in front of the animal’s hiding place. She pushed the food towards the entrance and added a small cup of water. She gathered up the remaining items into the tote and turned to leave the gazebo.
“Wait,” I demanded, “who are you? What are you doing here? Come on honey, talk to me. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
She stopped, eyed me solemnly, her annoyance apparently forgotten. She watched me with an awareness and maturity far and above her years and I admit, it made me a little nervous to be trapped in that watchful gaze. She walked slowly towards me, reached out and stroked the back of my hand. At her touch, a sliver of electricity traveled up my arm. It startled me so much that I yanked my hand back, hiding it between the folds of my sweatsuit pants and took a step away from her. She observed my retreat with sad eyes and said,
“I’ve got to go now,” she stepped back towards the door, “but I’ll be back.” At that announcement, she turned and ran down the path.
I caught sight of light reflecting off metal on the cedar planked floorboard, near the entry. I can’t believe I’d missed that before. It was a bowl, now empty except for remnants of some type of meat. I took a quick sniff but was unable to identify it. I was pretty certain that it had not been here during my last visit, besides, the meat was still moist. I took one last look down the path the child had taken and wondered what she had been doing here.
Thoughts about the mysterious child stayed with me for the rest of that afternoon and were the first thing on my mind upon awakening the next morning. I entertained several scenarios about the child's identity and possible purpose on my property, and dismissed as many as I kept. She was far too young to be wondering around alone. So, where were her parents? She looked well cared for, clean and healthy, so that would seem to rule out that she may be lost or homeless. I didn’t recognize her as one of the neighborhood children who used to hang around with Micah, but maybe her family was new to the community?
I decided to head down to the gazebo and wait to see if the child returned. I dressed quickly and headed across the lawn. I settled myself into one of the lounges and prepared myself for patience.
It was a beautiful summer morning. The type of day Kai used to refer to as “God’s Day”. The first time he used that phrase I found it curious and laughingly asked him what he meant. It was during one of our weekend pilgrimages to our time-share in Seaside, off the Gulf of Mexico, roughly 40 miles from Panama City. I think it was probably Labor Day weekend, the year before Micah was born. We had decided to take advantage of the long three-day weekend. It was the morning after our arrival; we were awakened by sunlight glowing through white cotton curtains that blew rhythmically in and out of our room and the sounds of birds barely awake. We curled up together on a soft rope hammock in the shade of the wide screened front porch. I can almost feel the gentle sea breezes evaporating the moisture on my skin as I recalled his words.
“Days like this remind me of the presence, magnitude and favor of God,” he spoke reverently, all earnest sincerity now. “When I take in the beauty that surrounds us daily and the bounty of the earth that nurtures and sustains us, I am reminded of WHO He is. If there was ever any doubt in my mind about whether God lived and loved me, on days like this, He shows me what kind of provider He is.”
I took in the beauty of the morning around me, allowing myself to sink into the peace and to find comfort once again in Kai’s arms and God’s love. The sudden squawk of a nearby black bird taking flight from the brush startled me back to surroundings and with it, came the return of my anger and cynicism.
“If You really loved me, you wouldn’t have taken my family! You wouldn't have left me to go through this alone, without help or comfort. If You love me now, give it back! Give me back my peace and joy. Give me the ability to love and receive love again,” I challenged my unseen God.
Silence.
Hmpf! Figures!
And then, the sound of a high pitched childish voice raised in song, penetrated my churning thoughts. I suddenly remembered my purpose in the gazebo and looked around hopefully, surprisingly anxious to see the mysterious little girl again. The words of her song were suddenly clear as she stood outside the entrance to the gazebo,
“Jesus loves me this I know,” I was suddenly breathless, “for the bible,” the song ended abruptly as the child caught sight of me on the lounge.
She was a breathtakingly beautiful little girl. She was similarly dressed as yesterday in a white cotton shift and bare feet, which were oddly dirt-free. Her hair was neatly combed into two curly afro puffs on each side of her head. Her complexion was as creamy and smooth as milk chocolate.
But it was her eyes that held and captivated me. They were as bright and round as two silver dollars; her little cupie doll mouth formed an oval shaped ‘O’ as she absorbed my unexpected presence. While her surprise was evident, she did not appear frightened and made no effort to leave. She boldly met my eyes as she took her measure of me; after a few seconds, she seemed to resolve some sort of internal struggle.
“Hi,” she said simply.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I responded, “what are you doing here?”
She acknowledged my greeting with an even wider smile, but chose to ignore my question as she ventured further into the gazebo. I took note of the canvas tote she had thrown over her shoulder.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed, apparently delighted at some new discovery. I observed her walking towards the discarded, empty bowl from yesterday. She kneeled down next to the bowl, set the canvas tote at her feet and began to remove the contents.
“What’s your name, honey?” I inquired, my fascination with her actions in direct contrast with my annoyance at being ignored by this young diva.
She continued removing things from the bag as if I had not spoken and as if she were alone. She peeled back the lid on a plastic container. At least the source of the mystery meat was revealed, I thought. The child started emptying the food into the bowl just as I started to ask her about it. Then,
“Shush, I hear him.”
Did that child just ‘shush’ me?
“Here? Who?” I inquired, curious in spite of myself. Just then, I could hear the scratching noises that seem to emanate from the floorboard. I stepped closer, just as a small, furry head revealed itself, scrambling to get to the offering provided by the child.
It was a puppy!? Or at least, it would be a puppy if it had more weight on it, if its hair covered its body more evenly, and perhaps, was given a bath. This was the most pitiable creature I had ever seen. It was evident just to look at it, that this puppy did not have long to be in this world. Not only was it starving, but judging by the wounds barely healing across its little body, it had been horribly abused as well. I could see pus blending in with mud and who knows what else was covering that poor thing.
What in the world was this child doing with this possibly diseased puppy? Where in the heck was her mama? Her folk? Just as I was about to start demanding answers and forcibly pulling her away from the animal, she started to sing again,
“He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands.” She continued to sing softly to the puppy as she coaxed it fully from its hiding place. The puppy was barely able to stand and was visibly trembling as it moved cautiously towards her. She made no sudden movement or any efforts to pull the puppy towards her. Her restraint was an amazing thing to watch, given her age. She patiently waited while the puppy assessed her scent and decided whether or not it could trust her.
“Where did it come from?” I inquired.
So intent was the animal on assessing the little girl, it had totally failed to realize that she was not alone. The sound of my voice startled it so completely that it tipped over and then began a frantic attempt right itself again. As soon as it regained its footing, it disappeared back into its hiding place under the floor.
“Now look what you did!” she demanded, turning furious eyes on me, “you’ve scared him!” She was so outdone with me that she all but stomped her little foot for emphasis.
Before I could offer her an apology, Whoa! Apology? What am I apologizing for? She had already turned and kneeled on the floor in front of the animal’s hiding place. She pushed the food towards the entrance and added a small cup of water. She gathered up the remaining items into the tote and turned to leave the gazebo.
“Wait,” I demanded, “who are you? What are you doing here? Come on honey, talk to me. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
She stopped, eyed me solemnly, her annoyance apparently forgotten. She watched me with an awareness and maturity far and above her years and I admit, it made me a little nervous to be trapped in that watchful gaze. She walked slowly towards me, reached out and stroked the back of my hand. At her touch, a sliver of electricity traveled up my arm. It startled me so much that I yanked my hand back, hiding it between the folds of my sweatsuit pants and took a step away from her. She observed my retreat with sad eyes and said,
“I’ve got to go now,” she stepped back towards the door, “but I’ll be back.” At that announcement, she turned and ran down the path.
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