My apologies to Andrea and to all that thought I would write a serious response to Andrea's thoughtful, lovely challenge. I know - I'm also a day late.
It all started one day, on a warm spring night; the air perfumed of peach blossoms; cheers radiating from the volley ball audience.
It wasn't a miracle that we won, because our team was the only one with a great coach. It wasn't a miracle that each player, while slightly disabled due to the fact we all worked for a title insurance company, could function. It wasn't even a miracle that all the teams we played against were tripping over each other.
The miracle happened when I...(picture this)...the score's tied and the game's in overtime. Every player's knees were bandaged and the opposition, six to seven foot giants, were giving us the broken toothed evil eye glare. I had the ball and it was up to me to make the winning serve. I volleyed the ball so high in the sky that the opponents had to crane their necks to see it. Well, except for the one guy that bent to tie his shoe. The ball landed smack dab on his head.
The miracle wasn't the fact that my serve won the game and all my team mates lifted me on their shoulders shouting victory type shouts. The miracle was, while I was riding high on my team mates' shoulders, the string around my halter top came loose and no one noticed. Now, that was a miracle. (I think).