Unrung Hero

I hate talking on the phone. I hate hate hate it. E mail me, text message me, send me a post card, shoot off a smoke signal, fire up a flare. Just don’t call me. I hate the telephone because...well, I don’t know why but I just do; so there.
This morning at 6:08 a.m. my phone rang. So we all know what happens; heart speeds up, mind races and in the five seconds it takes to pick up the receiver we’ve considered a dozen tragedies waiting to be announced. No tragedy, thank the Lord. Just work, wanted me to come in on my day off. The phone can bring bad news, one reason I hate the phone.
The phone interrupts my at home time. I dislike the phone more now that I’m a working girl because my at home time is so very limited and precious. I look forward to my days at home like some people imagine Hawaiian vacations. I plan for them days ahead of time. I make a schedule of what I will do. I streamline my errands to preserve as much time as possible at home. I push open the blinds and curtains to admire the sunshine streaming across my living room. I buy herbal tea to enjoy in my favorite mug. I know, it seems a little extreme but there it is. I like my quiet little house and my limited time spent there. At work I’m talking to someone constantly. If you’ve been reading this blog for any time or if you know me at all; you know I’m a social misfit of sorts. Let me just tell you that eight hours a day talking wears a sister out. My house is quiet. I like it quiet. So I don’t love the shrill of a ringing phone on my day off. Another reason I dislike the phone.
The phone pushes me off my schedule. I don’t plan phone time into my day. I plan laundry and groceries and studying and often Regis or American Justice into my day. The phone rings and my schedule is all junked up. Yeah, it’s a matter of moments but nonetheless; it’s my schedule and I like it. When I’m watching the BTK Killer and the phone rings, I might miss something very important.
The phone interrupts my time with the Mr. and daboyz. This is the worst offense. I have specific hours to be with my family. As daboyz get older, the hours become fewer. We are only home together after 4:00 p.m. The Mr. has practice one night. Daboyz have small groups another night. Mac is a junior high ministry leader on Mondays. Mr. and I have life group every other Wednesday. Church on Sundays. I work every other weekend. Mr. works most weekends. My point is, the Smith family gathered at home together is a rare commodity these days. The phone rings and I lose more of the time.
I hope I’ve not offended you. I can hear it now, “See if I ever call her again!” You’re right. I’m wrong. I didn’t say everything I just said to prove that phones are evil. I forget sometimes that the very things I complain about are sweet spots in life I’m missing.
My phone rings because somebody out there wants to talk to me. Somebody is interested in what I’m up to. Somebody wants me to know something that is important to my life. Somebody wants to hear my voice. Somebody wants to offer me something (sometimes the offers are unwelcome to be sure!). Somebody wants to have a cup of coffee, go out to dinner, or giggle for a minute. Somebody wants to encourage me, tell me they’re praying for me or ask how my latest struggle is going. Somebody had a choice of what to do in a given moment, and they dialed my number.
Maybe I need to rethink my position on the telephone. Maybe I need to re-examine the things I call nuisances. Maybe there are people out there aching for their phone to ring while I roll my eyes and sigh before I answer mine. Maybe I’m so over-run with blessings that I’ve started to pick which blessings to acknowledge and which to criticize. Maybe I don’t hate the phone. Maybe I need to remember that a ringing phone means I’m loved, I’m prayed for, I have a place in the world outside my four walls.
I don’t hate the phone. I’m thankful. So thank you for calling me to tell me a story, ask what’s up, invite me to lunch or tell me where Sketchers are on sale. Thank you for calling even though you can tell I’m cutting you short because I don’t want to talk. Thank you for calling me anyway. Thank you for being in my life. And thank you because when I have a story, a problem or want to have lunch, you always pick up.
I just realized, Jesus is a lot like the phone. Sometimes when He wants to chat, I don’t want to be interrupted. I don’t want to hear the news, don’t want to share my time. But when I do decide to crawl out of my me-shell; He always picks up. He’s always ready to listen and to answer.
I like the phone. I wouldn’t trade being a part of your life for anything. Thanks for teaching me again, about God. About my need of Him, and you. And despite the times you get the machine and suspect I’m right there listening; give me a ring. I promise I’ll pick up.