Back in college, a friend and I used to go to the mall to roll pennies.  I am not referring to stacked coins inside a paper wrapper, but rather the act of tossing a copper coin on its edge such that it landed at the feet of a child running by. We never knew their names. Thirty-seven cents bought us each an enjoyable afternoon, being both the catalyst and audience for bursts of serendipity. 

 

I am unsure if pennies still ignite wonder for five year olds, or if inflation is such that we would need to cough up quarters. But in the seventies it was sweet enough to lure us away from homework. Neither of us owned a car, so we traveled by train, which added to the adventure. It was magical for children to happen upon such bounty, and to pick it up. In that instant the cash belonged to them, and either landed in a gum ball machine or a piggy bank. I don't recall any girl whipping her head around to wonder who sent it. We were never close enough to hear any words that were spoken, but their faces communicated in a language we understood. Maybe they asked their mothers where it came from, but probably all that mattered was that it was theirs now. 

 

The other day, I was responding to comments on Off the Left Eye, and felt a wave of uncertainty. Did I even know what I was talking about? Less than a minute later, I came across an effusive message expressing gratitude for what we do. The person writing it was tossing their two cents into the conversation, without knowing my name. Yet it felt like an answer to my prayer. The one I had not spoken, in which I asked for reassurance. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. 

 

Last week I composed a story, and felt unsure of whether it held together. Because I write every day, I do not have the luxury to let them ripen. Yet three people took a moment to tell me what it meant to them. Their shiny words landed at my feet, and I scooped them up. 

 

It matters to me where these small gifts originate. Although I cannot turn my neck fast enough to spy the angels who send them, and I don't know their names, I still plunk them in my emotional piggy bank.