A Sunny Day in the Rain
At the church where Meenakshi Amma, the Hindu devotee, still shares the centre of memory and affection, the day unfolded strangely — a sunny day in the rain.
The air was warm and people sweated. The Nolasco Chapel carried the smell of gathered humanity — sweat, damp clothes, devotion and fatigue mingled together. Before Communion, the chapel grew loud with children running about. It has become a refuge for families with little ones, and perhaps rightly so. Yet my heart longed for stillness.
So I moved quietly to the main church door and received Holy Communion there, earnestly and with attention. Afterwards my mind was at peace. The usual urge to remain for the Chaplet of Divine Mercy did not come. The soul seemed already satisfied.
After Mass I went to greet Rozario Daddy, who had returned from Canada about a month ago. He spoke warmly and kindly. But midway through our conversation a small thought rose within me — that even during his time abroad, he had never kept in touch through WhatsApp. The thought lingered. So I gently brought the conversation to a close and returned once again to the church.
The Nolasco Chapel was now empty.
The lights and fan were still on. Pleasant. Quiet. Mercifully still.
I sat there for a long while.
Eyes closed.
Praise and worship.
A kind of half-sleep descended upon me — not fully asleep, not entirely awake. People came and went. A boy from Bombay sat beside me. I handed him a school reopening card and spoke only briefly, telling him about Saint Nolasco and the Lady of Ransom Church. Nothing more.
Then again I drifted.
There were visions perhaps, and voices too — conversations that felt positive, strengthening, almost instructional. But like dreams that dissolve with morning light, I could not remember them.
When I finally awoke, earthly reality returned with its familiar weight.
Bills are due.
And I have no money at all.
For a moment sadness sat beside me.
Then another thought arrived — not dramatic, not thunderous, but steady.
Why worry?
You walked your own way. You made your choices and stood by your decisions. And what did you gain? Often failures, disappointments and roads that led nowhere.
Now leave room for His plan.
For every soul born into this world, perhaps there is a path already known to Him. Our task may not be to control every turning, but to remain close enough to recognise it when it unfolds.
Let Him work your future.
Let Him pay the bills in His own mysterious arithmetic.
But be mindful of acceptance.
When His plans arrive, do not say again, “I do not want this,” as you have done before.
And sitting there beneath the quiet fan of the empty chapel, I understood something with unusual clarity:
My plans have often exhausted me.
His plan — if I have the humility to receive it — may yet carry me where my strength could not.
