Today, I met an angel at a coffee shop.
I am one that believes that everyone who walks in or out of your life is meant to teach you a lesson. Today, I got a text from a beta telling me that somehow, this story “lines up with everything I’m going through or have been through,” and “drops little life bombs on me. Some are good, some are discouraging, but something always happens in it to let me know it’s going to be okay.”
As I’m reading these messages, a man I have never spoken to, but often see watering the flowers at my favorite haunt, stopped me to ask me how my writing was going (I am unsure how he knew that I wrote). I mentioned that I had just received some wonderful feedback, and that it was really validating, as the story is so important to me.
This man plants wild flowers in planters.
What happened next is something I can only describe as otherworldly. We began talking, and he began to talk with me about the themes of my book, and the calling he believes certain people have toward writing. He went inside, and I texted my husband, “I just met an angel.”
When he came back out, he sat down beside me for a moment. He told me that he woke up yesterday with the word Feather in his mind, and it led him to watch a film called White Feather, which stirred something deep within him. He sat down to tell me about this corny old western from the fifties, because he felt like he should. I told him that the first song that came on this morning when I got in the car was a song called Feather.
Then, for no reason at all, he told me that some people are born into families where they do not fit, because they are to gain an empathy that will allow them to relate to others in extraordinary ways. In our fifteen minutes together, we spoke of grief, and our inability as a society to allow it to ebb and flow within us. That we don’t know how to support one another, and are afraid of the impact other people may have on our lives, so we refuse closeness. That we have forgotten to honor the connectedness we are called to feel with the earth, and with each other.
Throughout the day, I’ve felt drawn to this idea that we are all just wildflowers in planters. Each one of us, a mix of beautiful, eclectic, confined, but uncontrolled blooms. Today, I met an angel in a coffee shop who somehow felt the need to tell me what I needed to hear, and his message to me was honor. So friends, go out and honor your hearts. Honor your earth. Honor your loved ones, and those who’ve done you wrong because of their own broken hearts. Everything that happens is meant to guide you, if you just look close enough.
All my love, KW.
One response to “Wildflowers in Planters.”
Thanks for sharing your angel with us and for being one yourself.