The Hidden Wisdom of Ravens

Spiritual Meaning & Seeing the Signs: Finding Faith in a Raven’s Message

Today, my husband and I went for a hike to clear the space and hit the reset button. It had been a rough few days. We had recently received some deeply upsetting news—not the kind of tragedy involving illness or loss, but a situation heavily wrapped in themes so many of us experience: it was unjustified, completely out of our control, and we couldn’t do a single thing to change it.

It was just plain unfair. No matter how we approached it, the outcome was set in stone.

The situation involved our son. He has been playing hockey since he was seven years old. We never pushed him into it; he tried it, fell in love with the game, and grew into a strong, kind, and highly competitive player. This year, even though he completely kicked ass, he was overlooked and passed over by the association (not the coach) to move forward in the league.

Here is the hard part: they picked ten players who played on the fourth line in spring hockey, while our son was a first-line player. Frankly, they were half the player he is. To make matters worse, the evaluators were parents of the children trying out. Our son excelled, outplayed the competition, and hit every single mark. Anyone who knows hockey could see it.

But it wasn’t meant to be. It was a corrupt, unfair process that left us shocked and spiralling through the "whys." We couldn't think of a single logical reason. Our son is the nicest kid, and he was just left feeling confused by the whole ordeal. Even other parents whose children were picked have reached out to ask if a mistake was made, wondering why he was left behind.

I tend to process things a bit faster than my husband (sorry, hun, but I do!), and this decision really took him by surprise, triggering a wave of anxiety and anger. In our community, the hockey world is run by a "boys' club" mentality. It is what it is. We will never truly know why our son wasn’t picked, but we have our assumptions—namely, that many of the chosen kids have parents who are heavily invested financially and politically.

I could go on and on about the politics, but that isn’t what this post is about.

It’s about the Raven.

We went to a local trail we’ve hiked dozens of times. While there is plenty of wildlife there—slugs, ducks, squirrels, and the occasional bear sighting on the community board—what happened next was entirely different. Near the end of our walk, a massive Raven swooped down, cawing loudly, and landed on a branch so hard that we both stopped dead in our tracks. We just stood there, staring up at this silly bird.

On the drive home, the hockey topic reared its head again. The spiralling thoughts and heated conversations started back up: He did everything right. He excelled. So why?

As my husband met every positive solution I offered with a wall of negativity, my frustration boiled over. I finally snapped and told him off. Feeling guilty immediately after, I tried to explain where I was coming from.

"Something needs to change," I told him. "You cannot keep going this way. You are the one who is hurting the most. The director doesn't care, the coaches don't care, and even our son isn't this upset!

No one else is stuck here except you. Why can't you just move forward? Maybe you need help. I've been with you for over twenty years, and you're getting stuck in a negative cycle of fight, flight, or freeze."

Well, no one wants to hear that. It was no surprise when he shut down and said, "That's enough. I don't want to talk anymore."

Of course, I kept going. "You always do this! You spend days spiralling in pain and suffering, and then once I’ve had enough and try to suggest solutions, you’re 'done.' You shut down, and I’m left feeling like I’ve done something wrong when I’m only trying to help."

Then came the heavy silence.

Two miles later, a huge black bird swooped down, crossing the road right in front of our windshield.

"Oh my gosh, did you see that?!" I gasped. "It must be a sign from the universe!"

My husband just rolled his eyes and stayed quiet. Intrigued, I pulled out my phone to look up the spiritual meaning of a raven trying to get your attention. I read the results out loud to the quiet car:

"The raven represents transformation, hidden wisdom, and a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds. Ravens are said to be able to help solve complex puzzles in real time. Culturally, ravens signal the end of an old phase and the start of a new one. They are problem-solvers, acting as keepers of secret knowledge and urging you to look past illusions. Raven's carry messages from the unseen or divine realms. Change is coming. raven can act as a guardian through hard times, signaling an impending shift in your life perspective. Time for self-reflection. The bird invites you to look at your 'shadow self'—the parts of your personality you usually ignore. Pay attention. A loud, cawing raven is a sign that you need to speak up or listen closer to your intuition."

"Oh my gosh," I said, turning to him. "That is so incredibly fitting. That's crazy!"

Still, no comment from the driver's seat.

"Don't you think?" I pressed. When he remained silent, I added, "Well, you need to have faith and believe that there is something bigger out there trying to get your attention."

A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway. I walked inside the house but immediately turned around to head back out to the garden where my husband was standing.

Right then, I watched five ravens fly in, swoop in a circle directly around him, and fly away.

My eyes popped and my jaw hit the floor. He looked over at me, instantly knowing exactly what I was thinking. This time, I said absolutely nothing. I just copied the text I had just read about the spiritual meaning of the raven, hit send, and let the universe do the talking.