As I was riding the train home tonight, I kept thinking about the fact that I had to be living in this city, far away from my family, unable to go home to celebrate my cousin's wedding with the rest of my dad's family. If only I had more money to have gone home, or was able to go to the Cincinnati campus so I could drive home for a weekend. Poor, poor me. It had been my stream of thought that I hadn't been able to shake all weekend long.
Like normal, the train arrived at my stop and I wheeled my heavy rolly-backpack off the train and down the steps. Along the way, the weight shifted and the bag turned over so the wheels were facing up. "Damn it!" I said a little too loudly as I struggled to get it back into position so I could go home after a long day.
Upon witnessing this, a homeless man sweetly looked at me and said, "I wish I had that much stuff to lug around" and turned and walked away, not asking for money or food. I stood still for a moment in shock before continuing on my way.
Who am I to complain about my incredibly rich, satisfying life?
It's moments like this when I remember that malachim, God's messengers, really are all around us--and they all have something to teach.