Underneath the golden umbrella, there were several saints relics. The lady monk who greeted us in line said to expect the relics to have the same presence as the saints themselves. I was curious and open minded, but a bit skeptical. As I approached Shakyamuni's blood relic, the relic of Buddha himself, my cell phone rang. It was my son, who had not talked to me in seven months, inviting himself to dinner. That was miracle enough for me.