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Last night Kevin and I were coming home from the last day of classes before the Christmas break. It had been a pretty full day and we were both happily exhausted. But when we went to get on the motorcycle to come home we found a flat tire. There are no spares on a motorcycle, and all the vulcanizers nearby were closed. But after fighting the wheel off, we found a taxi who would take us to find someone to fix it.
That was when our rather mundane, late-night nuisance started to turn into something more miraculous. The vulcanizer we found was quiet. There was a party or family gathering going on around him, but he went about his business very professionally. I told Kevin, ‘It’s nice to watch someone who takes pride in his work.’
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He put the stem back inside the tube, melted a piece of rubber over the old hole, and then hammered the stem through the patch—good as new. With just a few simple tools he had done what was totally impossible for me.
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We had a hard time finding a ride back to where we had left the bike. We ended up walking, taking a jeepney and then a tricycle. The trike driver was a lot of fun, joking about charging us twenty-five dollars instead of twenty-five pesos because we were foreigners. I had just barely enough Tagalog to make the conversation camaraderic. And, again, there was a surprising confidence in his skills.
It was late so there was no traffic, and after how long it had taken us to find a ride, the speed he got the tricycle up to on Katipunan Avenue was thrilling. I had no good foothold on the side of his vehicle, and felt always like I was going to fall off—but the feeling was exhilarating more than terrifying.
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Our third encounter happened when we got back to the gas station where we had left the bike. I had locked away all the bolts and small parts we had taken off, but there was one large part I didn’t want to carry and couldn’t fit inside the locking compartment. So I had set it close by the bike where I hoped no one would notice it.
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Not that I expected any help, but I started asking the gas station attendants if they had seen anything. I was surprised how long it took him to come forward, but one of the managers came over and told me he had hidden the part better, ‘Because there are many thieves.’
Even here the miracle had the face of an inconvenience. It was sickening to the stomach to look at the patch of cement where I had left the part, knowing it wasn’t going to reappear for all my hopefulness. But someone had looked out for us. Someone had seen to it that our misfortune didn’t turn into despair.
It’s telling this story the morning after when you begin to see these three men as angels, sent from God. This Christmas let’s grow in the faith to see miracles in our misfortunes the way Mary did.
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