“Coincidences are small miracles for which God has not taken credit.”
I entered Canada today on my way to a book signing event. There were many lines from which to choose. As usual, I chose the slowest one. Never get behind me in a line anywhere.
When I reached the customs booth, the conversation went like this:
Customs Officer: “Where are you going and why?”
Me: “I’m a writer, headed for a book signing event.”
Customs Officer: “What book is the event for?”
Me: “This book,” I say, as I hand him my card with an image of the book cover on it.
Customs Officer: “Hey, my wife has your book and loves it!”
Wait. It gets better.
I get to my hotel later in the day and a nice young lady, named Becky, checks me in.
Becky: “What brings you to Grand Rapids?”
Me: “A book signing event at Baker Book House.”
Becky: “Tell me the story.”
I tell her a brief version, including that Helen and Raymond were married on her 18th birthday and that she was widowed when her B-17 pilot husband died in a crash on her 19th birthday and 1st wedding anniversary.
Becky: “When was her birthday?’
Me: “September 6th.”
Becky: “Really? That’s my birthday.”