I hear this every now and then, especially if I'm making a phone call. A lot of you know I'm not much one for dialed-up conversations, preferring the slow time of playing with words that an email often allows. So when I do press the call button, I can see how it might be deemed a miracle.
Milagro equals miracle in most senses of the word: Water into wine, Life after death, D.F. without traffic. But in a country where gods once lived among men, and the Virgin Mother descends with signs of roses for the people, the miracle of apparition rings an almost daily note. Or doorbell. Or dial tone.
"¡Qué milagro!", friends and relatives say here when they haven't seen or heard from someone in awhile. On the surface, it isn't much more than the phrase one instinctively says, letting the caller or visitor know that their presence--physical or vocal--is a welcome and pleasant surprise. But I like to think of it as something more awesome, something that gets the circumstance right--that everyday miracle of a friend's visit or a relative's call, the apparition of something truly mysterious: human connection.