It was a Tuesday. A typical, average, decently normal type of Tuesday, except that it was a sucky Tuesday. Nothing awful happened, nothing dramatic or super emotional—there was just a heavy weight on my shoulders. I was anxious about the future, feeling sort of lost, and not myself. I had just left the gym, and was pulling into my parking spot at my house. The gym was decent; I’d lifted and ran a good chunk of miles, but I still felt directionless. No matter how many miles you run, you can’t get that feeling out of your head. I idled my car, and just sat there for a moment. The rest of my Tuesday was open, a free night with no plans. But as much as that should have put me in a good mood, I felt stuck.
I sighed. Then leaned over to the passenger side of my car and grabbed my purse and lunch. As I picked them up, I noticed a thin, white feather in the middle of the seat. It stopped me right in my tracks.
A few months ago, my mother started reading a book about angels. Don’t ask me why or how this began, but it was absolutely a blessing to our entire family. In the Christian faith, angels are God’s messengers. They bring good news, and in some denominations, angels are considered to be guardians, or faithful lookouts. In my mother’s angel book, it tells how angels are constantly watching over humans, guiding them, protecting them, and giving them signs of their love and care. One of these signs is a feather.
A feather is a reminder that you are not alone. It can be an answer to a question, a prayer, or an anxious thought. It can be a reassurance that you’re on the right path. As I ran my finger over the tiny ribs of the feather, I felt a sudden sense of peace.
There was absolutely no rhyme or reason for that feather to be in my car. I don’t own a damn thing that is feather made, or down-stuffed. I haven’t had a pillow in my car, or any small feathered animal, or anything, really, except for my gym shoes, purse, and lunch bag. There was no explanation for that feather being there. It just was.
I clutched the feather in my palm and stared at it. The tears were already pouring down my face; there was no stopping them. It was as if, in that moment, all the indecision and fear and anxiety and stress I was feeling had melted away. This tiny, insignificant-looking feather was the unsolicited answer to the jumble of emotions I was feeling—I was on the right path. I was going to be okay.
Sometimes in life, you’re blessed with little miracles. They might seem like nothing, like a tiny white feather, but they carry incredible weight. They are signs that you’re never alone, even when you’re at your lowest, even when it’s a Tuesday night and you’re feeling sort of empty. For me, this was related to my faith, but it’s deeper than that and not solely because of that. In that moment I wasn’t praying, I wasn’t asking God for an answer. I was just given a small gift. A small angel-note, to show me that the mix of craziness I was feeling was just a part of the process. That as I went through the rest of my crappy Tuesday, I wasn’t riding completely solo. Someone had my back.