"God," I said, praying on my knees, "Give me something, whether ill or good, to help me in this my time of need. I'm stricken with poverty in more ways than one and the blink of your eye, whether touched with a tear or blinded by rage, could be the subtle difference between a damn and a salve. Forsake me not, I who have always loved you." But as I paused, sure to hear a rumble or a groan, silence of a depth so immeasurably great met my ears and I strained to hear beneath it. At last a clock chimed and I jumped to my feet, eager, eyes cast to the door in expectation of some angel or God Himself. I must have smiled a welcome at that door for damn near ten minutes before the smile slipped and I turned a bewildered stare at my white ceiling. Where the hell was my miracle?