There are those who do not believe in miracles.

They have their doubts about the existence of Santa Claus, the danger of the Bermuda Triangle and the death of Elvis.

Well, I am ready to believe there are even WMDs somewhere in Iraq because a real miracle happened to me.

It was the first day of the Davis Cup.  I was near the end of my manners, patience and rope when a wondrous blessing was bestowed upon my person.

My family and I had driven almost four hours from our town of Bend to Portland, Oregon.  Our path was through the Cascade Mountains and the weather that day was challenging for motorists.  We saw several unfortunate souls whose automobiles had left the pavement without authorization. 

I was envious of some of those because I was still in our car with three other occupants who argued passionately for the duration of our journey over whose iPod would be played next. 

I was dehydrated and felt like a dried-out sponge.  My heinie is fussy about where it deigns to perch and prefers, above all others, to make use of my own potty that I have personalized scrubbed and disinfected within an inch of its life. 
Given that those facilities were many miles away and the available options were substandard, I chose not to drink which led to my physical distress.

There were difficulties at our hotel which did not help my mood one bit. 

In order to get to the Davis Cup, we had to trot about half a mile through severe wind and buckets of falling rain to get to the MAX.  The MAX is the light rail system in Portland which is a polite way to say public transportation. 
Anyone who has ever used public transportation knows how “interesting” the company can be. 
The MAX never fails to disappoint.

Once we got to our stop we had to slosh through another half mile to the Memorial Coliseum.  There we found 12,000 other tennis fans who knew not the definition of the word timid.

Ever since the Miracle on Ice when the U.S. hockey team beat the undefeated Soviets in the semi-finals, Americans have longed for the opportunity to once again chant, “U-S-A!  U-S-A!  U-S-A!”  The Davis Cup audience used every chance possible to echo this mantra, I swear I could hear it drifting out of the public restrooms, and the roar added to my already throbbing headache.

After finding our seats, I was dispatched to find food and drink for my crew.  The lines were quite long.

The concessions workers were flying about as fast as possible and even though each and every customer shouted “U-S-A!  U-S-A!  U-S-A!” into their faces, they remained remarkably cheerful while filling the orders. 
I was impressed.

But, I was feeling more and more miserable by the minute. 
I was sloshy, tired and in pain. 
My rear hurt from sitting for so long, my back hurt because my purse weighed several tons and my head pounded. 
My face and several body parts were losing the battle to gravity and my legs were beginning to disobey. 

I scanned the menu trying to find choices that would please my family while remaining vegetarian, tasty and somewhat healthy and the pickings were slim.  The very idea of food did not appeal to me at this point and I knew I didn’t want anything to drink, see above regarding fussy heinie.

So I thought I would just take a sip of one of the family’s water bottles and down a couple of Tylenol.  At that moment, it was all I wanted out of life: a sip of water and two Tylenol.  It became my mantra and my prayer.

I prayed, “God, if you just let me live long enough to get a sip of water and two Tylenol, I swear the next time I’m holiday shopping and they play ‘Sleigh Bells’ for the fourth time, I will not explode into my usual profanity-laced tirade.  Truly.  Just one sip of water and two Tylenol, God.”

Finally, it was my turn at the front of the line and after screaming the obligatory “U-S-A!  U-S-A!  U-S-A!” in a ragged voice, I started to place my order when the miracle happened.

The heavens parted. 
The angels sang. 
I remember thinking, “Hark.  The herald angels are singing” and I never say “Hark.” 
Verily, Jesus was in my heart. 

The glory of the Lord shown down and I saw, even though it was nowhere on the menu, an ample supply of Red Bull for purchase.

Red Bull. 
That magical beverage with abnormal levels of caffeine and mysterious chemicals (Inositol, Glucuronolactone, Taurine?) restored me, rescued my smile and gave me wings.

It was a tennis miracle!