Bookaholic Blog

I recently guest-blogged for the wonderful Bookaholic blog. If I were a certain kind of blogger I would post a link. But since I'm not (able) I've just cut and pasted. Here's the short (true) story I wrote:

The first time, the only time, I ever saw an angel I was five years old. I know that sounds amazing but it wasn’t some big, miraculous event. It was actually pretty ordinary. We were living in Israel at the time, in a tall apartment building. It had just finished storming and as the rain eased, I saw a rainbow. I had a perfect view of it from my window and I remember resting my elbows on the windowsill, watching it and the dark gray clouds.

There was a particularly odd shaped cloud drifting closer to the rainbow and I watched, curious, wondering why it seemed to be moving with purpose. So I had a perfect view of a hand emerging from that oddly shaped cloud. It reached over, touched the rainbow and just like that, the rainbow and the hand dissipated like mist and the cloud drifted off, all innocent and normal.

I jumped up and raced to my mother. I had seen an angel! It made such sense. I’d read the story of Noah’s ark. I knew the rainbow was a sign from God. It made sense angels kept track of them. Yet my mother, smiling fondly, insisted that all rainbows fade and that clouds often have shapes. Even five-year-olds know condescension when they hear it. I returned to my window, scanning the clouds, looking for proof. There was nothing to show, of course, nothing to point out. But I knew. And to this day, I can still see that hand, can still remember the unnatural way the rainbow simply vanished.

I used to feel disappointed that my one experience with the supernatural was so mundane. There were no fireworks , no goosebumps, no lasting repercussions that I know of. Just a little girl catching a glimpse of something amazing. As I grow older, though, I don’t mind the lack of fireworks, or the unexciting nature of my sighting. It’s kind of nice to think there might be wonders happening all around our oblivious selves. That miracles and marvels don’t need a drum roll to precede them, don’t need life altering meaning to follow. They’re just there, on a rainy afternoon, keeping us company.


More later,

Tammar