BY VINCENT TIGNO, JR.

HE LUMINOUS FACE OF MY WRISTWATCH GLOWED IN THE the darkness five minutes before midnight. Where should I start searching for my keys?

Eight hours earlier the park was alive with picnickers and promenaders. Now, nothing but the dark shades of night shrouded the surroundings. Given the size of that park, as well as the lateness of the hour, finding my lost keys would require a miracle.

Why Not?
But I didn't believe in miracles. My boyhood idol and mentor, Uncle Roberto, stressed that there was no such thing as a miracle. Roberto called himself a freethinker. He was cool, calm, and was quick to correct those who "didn't use their heads."

"Faith is a convenient excuse for those who are too lazy to exercise their reasoning powers," Roberto often declared with disdain in his voice.

On the other hand, my mother, Uncle Roberto's first cousin, together with Grandma Adela, my dad's mother, were both firm believers. Both were devout women who regularly prayed to God and to every saint in the statuary. For every problem they had a patron saint.

Desperation breeds determination. Under the circumstances, I thought, why not explore every possible solution? Uncle Roberto might call me a moron when he found out that I had flirted with the idea of miracles, but who cared? I was in a bind.

I recalled how Mother and Grandmother made the sign of the cross to start their prayers and their recitation of the rosary. Perhaps that was the signal, the symbolic code, the visual password. So, in that darkness of the night, my desire to recover my precious keys moved me to make the sign of the cross.

At first I felt silly, but I was alone in the dark. No one else was there to see what I was doing. Deep in my soul my heart hungered for some form of supernatural help. In the absence of an experience in faith, my tongue stayed tied to its anchor inside my mouth.

Nothing happened immediately. The darkness felt doubly deep. I decided to walk back toward the main road, where I hoped to find a taxi.

Suddenly, What's this under my right foot? Gingerly I lifted my foot as my left hand followed the beam of my flashlight to the grassy spot. With unbelievable pleasure I felt the keys with my fingertips. They were right there, waiting to be picked up.

Instinctively I looked up to the darkened sky above where stars seemed to twinkle brighter than Christmas lights. I hadn't noticed them before.

Soon a taxi came by. The driver didn't ask what I was doing out at such an "unholy hour," but the look in my glowing eyes must have told him that I had experienced something out of the ordinary.

Mother and Grandmother thanked God and the holy saints for the miracle of finding the missing keys as they went through their morning duties. Uncle Roberto sucked deeply at his pipe and waived the whole thing off as "a lucky coincidence." Within a short time the memory of the "miracle" had faded from my mind.

Another Coincidence?
My next ride was a joyride to jail. It all began as a dare. Some drinking companions dared a couple pals and me to prove our bravery. The next thing I knew, my friends and I were in a cab intending to rob the driver. The smell of beer on our breath must have betrayed our intentions. The headlights of the cab caught the silhouette of a police outpost up ahead. Faster than Mario Andretti, the driver headed for the outpost and signaled for help.

Their guns drawn and pointed in our direction, a pair of uniformed officers, plus one officer in street clothes, cordoned the cab and flushed us out. We were only a trio of young fools looking for fun. Still, we were hauled into the police station to intimidate us more than to interrogate us.

The desk sergeant barked that we were going to be booked. I began to feel embarrassed. After all, I came from a decent family.

Suddenly I saw Uncle Amadeus, my dad's second cousin. I hadn't seen him for years and didn't know that he was the dental officer for the police district. He happened to be there to attend to the dental problems of a prisoner.

"Tell your mom to thank the virgin mother," Uncle hissed. "Had I not been here, think of what could have happened to you behind these bars." My friends and I were released into my uncle's custody.

Saddened as they were, Mother and Grandmother thanked God and the holy saints for another miracle.

Uncle Roberto merely smiled and shrugged. I knew what was in his unbelieving mind; no miracle, just another coincidence.

A Man and a Gun
Another evening I was coming out from the theater, and, feeling hungry, I noticed a restaurant right across the street. I spotted a vacant table across the room. Making my way through the crowded dining room, I happened to bump the back of a chair occupied by a guy deeply involved in a drinking spree with his friends. The number of empty beer bottles on their table told how they had spent the evening. The guy whose chair I bumped looked dead drunk, but he still had enough life to lunge at me. He caught me by my belt with one hand while his other hand whipped out a pistol, which he pointed at my head.

With his brain already pickled by alcohol there was no point pleading my case with him. Slowly his forefinger tightened around the trigger.

Instinctively my hands shot up to cover my head-as if that would stop a bullet. Nonetheless, my hand's upward movement hit the gun, and it somehow flew from the guy's grasp.

Simultaneously the sound of an automatic weapon echoed through the front door. An old car came to a stop in front of the restaurant, its tailpipe belching thick black smoke. The momentary diversion gave me enough time to escape. I was out the back door like a rocket let loose from its launching pad. Two blocks away, still running, I leaped into a bus as it pulled away from the curb. My heart was beating like a bomb.

Once again Mother and Grandmother were on their knees thanking God and the saints for a miracle.

Uncle Roberto looked puzzled as he sucked on his pipe. "Three miracles?" he asked. "Isn't this getting to be a habit?" He walked away seemingly in deep thought.

A Protestant pastor and friend of our family uttered a prediction that proved prophetic: "Junior, miracles are God's monogram. He wants that, one of these days, He and you should meet."

A Man and a Bible
Three years later I was on a bus bound for a city where a national basketball championship was being held. It was an exceptionally hot summer night. The arena was still miles away. The bus screeched to a stop at a traffic signal, and on the right side of the street was an ice-cream shop, its neon sign showing the outline of a big scoop of ice cream crowning the top of a cone.

Questions for Reflection or for Use in Your Small Group 1. What life events, in hindsight, have demonstrated how God has tried to get your attention? 2. What's the difference between a miracle and a coincidence? 3. How do you know that the path you're on now is the one God wants you to follow? What would it take for you to change course? 4. Why does it often seem easier to see God's activity in someone else's life than in our own?

The basketball game wouldn't be starting for another 90 minutes; I couldn't resist the call of the ice cream. I got off the bus and came to a sudden, unscheduled stop in front of a portable evangelistic tabernacle.

The sign out front declared in big, bold letters: "Flight of Time Evangelistic Crusade." Underneath were the words: "Fordyce Detamore and Ray Turner, gospel evangelists." The sign didn't draw my attention as much as did the rich and melodious baritone voice echoing from within. The words of a song caught my attention: "It took a miracle to put the stars in place, it took a miracle to hang the world in space . . ."

I went in and took a seat in the back row. The evangelist was a small fellow with a big Bible in his hands. He moved back and forth on the platform and spoke in a rapid-fire fashion. I felt glued to my seat and listened to every word he said-at least those that I understood. When he said, "You may have messed up your life, but the miracle of God's saving grace is more than enough to clean up the mess," I felt as though he was speaking to me and me alone. I forgot about the ice cream-and the basketball game. I returned to that meeting place repeatedly. One night I walked to the front of the auditorium in response to an invitation to accept Christ as my Savior and spend the rest of my life serving Him.

It's a decision I've never regretted. God's activity in my life put me on a path that's brought me decades of remarkable experiences and evidence of His love.

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Vincent Tigno, Jr., Ph.D., is a retired pastor and professor of theology who lives in Long Beach, California.