The miracle is not that these stories kind of resembled my life, it is that they exactly described my life. As if they were made not for some man somewhere but for exactly this man right here. As if I had opened a dusty, old box and found an oddly shaped suit of clothes with an engraved watch in the front pocket,
Not that an oddly shaped man in some ancient yesterday might have fit in, but that I fit in, and the pocketwatch with today engraved upon its back,
Not that it was unreal and that made it a miracle, but that it was real--and it was exactly its realness that made it miraculous.
Before, it was I who was unreal. It was I who was oddly shaped.