Yesterday, as I went out front to help my husband de-clutter our mini-van, I stepped out on our deck, avoiding the pile of bird doo from our resident doves that needed shoveled. It was raining heavily and had been for several hours by this point. And it was cold.
Almost imperceptively my foot slipped and I did what I can only describe as a slow motion back splat. I knew I was falling, but before I could react to that knowledge, I was already staring into the gray sky as it piddled down on me.
And then I heard the unmistakable sound of cooing.
Despite my now throbbing knee, screaming back, soaking wet clothes, and panting lungs, I tipped my head enough to see the residents both perched high in the eaves over my head, black little eyes staring down.
And then that thought ran through my head. “I hope they don’t poop.”
They didn’t, by the way. Thankfully. Perhaps they knew that the world had already dealt me a blow and laid me out for the day. Who knows.
Whatever, I was grateful for the small blessing at that moment.
I’d say things like that don’t happen often. That small blessings are few and far between. But the reality is they aren’t few and far between and they do happen often.
We just don’t stop to see them.
Perhaps that’s what the universe was trying to tell me. I need to stop and see the blessings in whatever form they come. Big. Small. And everywhere in between.