The key to miracles is recognizing them when you see them.
Case in point: when I was a child, my family attended the Sunrise Service one Easter morning at Stone Mountain which is near Atlanta.
I loved climbing the mountain in the chilly predawn dark, up a rocky path lit by torches, surrounded by other silent pilgrims. At the top, brochures were passed out with the words to the hymns. We sang as the sun rose behind a stark wooden cross. When it was all over and everyone was leaving, my Mother noticed that a lot of people had abandoned their brochures.
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“Oh Lord,” said Mother, “I wish I’d thought ahead. We really need a big plastic trash bag.”
As she rounded the patch of bushes, she discovered a big plastic trash bag spread out over a bush. The bush was wet with dew, but the trash bag was as dry and sharply creased as if it had just come out of its box.
Mother lifted her eyes to the skies. “Thank you, Lord,” she said, and we knew that we had received our marching orders. We filled that bag several times over as we descended the mountain path, emptying it every time we encountered a trash can.
The key to miracles is recognizing them when you see them.