It's a Sign!

Whenever my younger sister Kelly wanted to know the answer to a life-changing situation, she asked for a sign.  She wanted something “visible” to know for sure if she was making the right decision.  I often teased her if I found a strange item on the ground—“Look, Kelly, it’s a piece of broken green glass, with rounded edges.  It’s a sign!  It’s a sign!  What does it mean?”  She always took the ribbing in stride.  She knew if she asked for a sign she would get it.  I always thought she must have a special sign Angel. 

I remember an incident that happened several years ago at a family beach get-together.  During a quiet girls-only stroll along the beach, Kelly spotted a beautiful sand dollar.  It was nestled among the thousands of piled up, broken sea shells that had washed ashore.  For some reason the fragile sand dollar was still intact.  It was perfect.  Kelly immediately snatched up the sand dollar and hugged it to her heart.  “I asked for a sign just a minute ago,” she said, “and here it is.”  It turned out that Kelly wanted confirmation that her boyfriend was “the one.”  It must have been the right sign because she later married him. 

I am probably more skeptical about signs but I admit that I have never found a whole sand dollar either, even though I have searched hundreds of times.  Something happened just recently, however, that made me think twice about signs.  I was waiting in a long line when I couldn’t help but notice the woman directly behind me.  She was slightly older than I am, attractive, and very distinguished looking.  Her beautiful Russian fur hat set her apart from everyone else.

I seldom start a conversation with strangers, but I couldn’t help myself.  I had to ask her about the hat.  “Yes, it’s from Russia,” she said warmly.  “I bought it forty years ago.”  I did detect a slight accent, but she said she was not Russian, she was Dutch.  I really did a double take when I heard her key words . . . “Russia, forty years ago.”  What were the chances of hearing those words from a stranger?  I was drawn to this lovely lady, and told her I was writing a book about a Russian that I had met forty years ago.

In the back of my mind, I could just hear Kelly’s voice laughing over the miles:

 
“It’s a sign.  It’s a sign!  You are supposed to tell your story about Sergei."