The Messenger on the Seawall

Lately, I've been thinking about messages. Not because I've been receiving many, but because perhaps I haven't been paying enough attention. After hearing beautiful stories from a hospice nurse practitioner about unexpected messages, I found myself reflecting on three small encounters during a morning run: checking on someone who seemed to be struggling, asking cyclists to slow down for a family of Canada geese, and then being stopped by a stranger who thanked me and called me a saint. I don't believe that's who I am, but the timing made me wonder. Maybe messages aren't always dramatic. Maybe they come through everyday moments that remind us to notice, to care, and to remember teachings like Indinawemaaganidog and Ubuntu; that we are all connected. Sometimes the Creator doesn't speak through thunder. Sometimes the message arrives on a bicycle.