Bringing Down the Roof

Caroling was a great tradition in my mother’s family.

Every year she and her sisters returned to their hometown in Arkansas and sang for their old neighbors. At age 8, I was finally old enough to join them. Clutching a gift basket, I took my place on the porch of a big house on Main Street.

“The three ladies who live here are sisters,” Mom said as she rang the bell. “All widows.” The door opened. We burst into “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.” The sister who answered called to the others, “Come quick!” Her sisters hurried to the door.

Something struck the tin roof overhead. I jumped. The sound came again in a steady roar, but we sang over it. Hail, I supposed. I pressed closer to my mother.

We finished our carol, and I handed over the gift basket. The sisters looked so happy, I didn’t care about the hail. But when we turned to leave, everything went quiet. No pounding on the roof, no hail. The ground was dry. “I know I heard hail on the roof,” my mother said on the way to the next house.

“That wasn’t hail,” my aunt said. “It was the angels applauding!” Now we had a family miracle to go along with our family tradition.