The other day Julie and I remembered what would have been the birthday of a baby she miscarried a few years ago. She was busy, so I told her I would go to church and light a candle.

The day got away from me, and when I was driving her home, she asked about it. I told her what happened, then suggested we go to the church and see if it was open.

"It's 9:30, the church is closed," she said.

"God's a banker?" I said.

We agreed to drive by. The doors were locked. "Let's just say a prayer on the steps," I said. "It's like an ATM, it'll get to them the start of business tomorrow."

Julie walked around to a sanctuary on the side of the church. I followed.

We held hands and talked, then we noticed the baby bottle sitting on the walk.

"Think that's a sign?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

She asked me if I had an idea how like that worked. Was I supposed to forget to light the candle, so we could drive by together? And why did I elect to drive by the church on the spur of the moment, when I usually dismiss that kind of extra effort?

I like Stephen King's concept of synchronicity in the Dark Tower series. Roland, the last gunslinger, refers to it as "following the beam." When you spot things of this nature, you're on the right trrack and you're supposed to keep going.

With the baby bottle, I took it as a heartening sign. Maybe we'll get pregnant again, or our baby will come through adoption. Maybe both, is what I suspect.

In another case of synchronicity, what Jung called "meaningful coincidence," I came across a news story ripped right off the pages of a story I am in the process of writing.

To tell the truth, I wasn't liking it, and had stopped work for a few days. Seeing the news story — believe me, it was the first time anything like that had ever happened — I resolved it was a little wink that, indeed I was on the right track.