Phone calls are not my favorite thing, probably because of the bad news relayed by phone over the years. Never mind that ten times more good news than bad has been the subject of phone calls, too. The bad news announcements make me skittish every time I say hello.
So when the daughter called and said, “Hi, Mom,” in a doleful voice, the bright October day dimmed. A half dozen worst case scenarios flitted through my mind.
She’s dropped out of college.
Their basement apartment flooded.
She lost her job.
She or her new hubby has cancer.
They’ve had a fight.
They crashed their car.
Lest you think I’m an alarmist, you should know that two weeks after their wedding, the daughter and her hubby called with trifold bad news. All in one weekend, his workplace h had unexpectedly closed, their computer crashed, and their car died.
The daughter’s slow, mournful voice continued. “We called to tell you that,” and here her voice grew animated and energetic, “that my sweetie got a job.” Our new son joined her on speaker phone to fill in the details.
Not just any job, but a full time job.
Not just any full time job, but one where he’ll make a difference in people’s lives.
Not just one where he’ll make a difference, but with decent pay.
Not just decent pay, but one with evenings, weekends and holidays off.
An answer to prayer. When they were done sharing the details, we all agreed that God had once again provided beyond what any of us could have imagined or conceived. I hung up the phone and smiled. A few hundred more calls like that one, and my phone phobia will bite the dust.
Ya’ know, miracles do happen.
