By Patricia Crisafulli
When life is uncertain and we question the path we’re on, we look for assurance—whether a sign in the sky or on the next roadside marquee. There’s even science to back this up. Behavioral scientists say such beliefs and practices help us cope with difficulties and calm our anxieties.
As the writer of my Ohnita Harbor Mystery series, here’s what I know to be true—both in what I’ve written and what I’ve lived. When we need help and hope, comfort and clarity, we will find it. It may not be instantaneous; often, I must keep following my path with vulnerability and fear of failure. But eventually, there will be a sign—clear and undeniable.
Like the day I dropped my glove in the Morgan Library Museum in New York City.
A Miraculous Discovery
It was early 2017, and I had traveled to New York for a combination business trip and research assignment for my novel-in-progress that would be the capstone of my Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree from Northwestern University. My creative thesis, which evolved into my first novel, ‘The Secrets of Ohnita Harbor‘, centered on the discovery of a small decorative cross in a pile of rummage sale donations. From one rewrite to the next, I struggled to describe my fictional artifact connected with Catherine of Siena, a 14th century medieval saint.
Should it be gold and jewel-encrusted? Silver and fashioned with religious symbols? After months of researching medieval crosses, nothing felt right to me. Discouraged, I knew that if the descriptions in my novel didn’t feel 100% true to me, this little cross I had conjured in my imagination would never convince my readers.
On a break between meetings, I stopped in the Morgan Library to view an exhibition of the poetry of Emily Dickinson. This had nothing to do with my research, but I was enthralled by the framed scraps of paper on which the Belle of Amherst had written verses in pencil. Then I returned to the coat check to collect my things before leaving the museum.
Standing in the lobby beside a small display stand, about three feet high and topped by a cube of plexiglass, I wrapped my scarf around my neck and put on my coat. That’s when I dropped a glove. While stooping and straightening to retrieve it, my eyes skimmed that display case. I read the words: Siena, 14th century, the exact time and place for the cross at the center of the mystery in my story.
Inside that display was a chalice from the Abbey of St. Michael, the base covered with richly colored enamel inlays that looked like stained glass windows in miniature. Everything in my hands dropped to the floor. I just knew I had been summoned to this very spot, at this exact moment. All my searching, all my longing, all my hopes and prayers and requests to find “it” had been answered in this moment.
The description inside the display case revealed the artistic technique used to make the chalice: basse-taille enameling, which involves carving precious metal into low relief and then covering it with layers of translucent colored enamel. The history and specificity of this enamelwork, which began in 13th century Italy, breathed life into my fictional cross.
Hungering to learn more, I headed the next day to the Metropolitan Museum of Art where I asked an art historian on staff where I might find examples of basse-taille enameling. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she told me, “We have nothing like that here.” Another dead end.
Before leaving the museum, I decided to use the restroom. That’s when a guard gave me directions that sounded like bad dialogue from an ‘Indiana Jones’ movie: “Go into the Hall of Medieval Treasures and turn left.”
I wandered a bit, searching for the bathroom—and instead ended up squarely in front of a display of (you guessed it …) basse-taille enamels. There were dozens of them!
Inexplicable, serendipitous, coincidental … these words fail to capture what I felt. Here was a second sign, another confirmation, and to my mind nothing short of miraculous. Something well beyond myself—who knows, perhaps some intervention by Saint Catherine herself—had led me there. That’s when I knew, I had to persist with my story—through ups and downs, rejections and finally acceptance.
Today, two published novels later, and with a third coming out next year, I can say with absolute belief: yes, that was my sign.
Looking for Signs
So where do you begin? For me, it starts internally and manifests externally. A few thoughts to consider:
- Ask, not command. When I command—I need to know right now—I am ego-invested and want to be proven right. That’s almost a guarantee that I won’t see anything. But when I ask—guide me on the next step—I become open to hints, nudges, intuitions, and answers.
- Live in the moment. My visit to the Morgan Library was to see the Emily Dickinson display—not medieval treasures. By living in the moment, I stumbled upon the answer that had eluded me for months.
- Say thank you. Many religious traditions agree on this one: the power and importance of gratitude. Whether this moment yields a sign or leaves you with a sigh that you must keep going, remember to say, “thank you.”
- Keep searching. Signs are everywhere.
Patricia Crisafulli is an award-winning writer and a New York Times bestselling author. Her first novel, The Secrets of Ohnita Harbor, was published by Woodhall Press in 2022, and her second, The Secrets of Still Waters Chasm, was published in September 2023.
