Marilyn and I very much enjoy our lives. We live in the country with her dad and spend most every day working for our small but vibrant church family. Our lives are basically centered on the activities of ministry. Marilyn’s dad, Wayne, now 86 years old, still works hard every day. He runs a delivery route for an automotive parts supplier, driving over 200 miles each day, six days a week. When he’s not driving, he’s on the phone with friends from all over the United States, a master at maintaining relationships he established as a soldier in WW II. He’s tireless about calling through his lists on a regular basis. When he isn’t calling someone on the phone, his phone is ringing.
When we first moved in with Wayne, his endless phone calls and extended conversations fascinated me!
I prefer to not talk on the phone except for messages. For me an ideal phone conversation maxes out at about 15 words. “Hello? Oh… hi… nope… yeah. Well, what do you think ought to happen? OK… see ya.”
It’s hard for me to carry on an extended conversation on the phone. Somewhere deep inside my subconscious, I see the telephone as a devise for messages only. I’ve never considered it a relational devise. Please don’t misunderstand; I’m not saying that the phone should be used only for messages—I get it, it is a wonderful relational devise as well—but somehow after all my years I still have the mindset that it is for quick conversations.
It’s built into me. I’m sure it stems from the old phone system we had when I was kid. We had one of those big, black heavy desk phones that you actually dialed. The handset must have weighed five pounds. And when it rang, you never picked it right up. No! You waited to see how many times it was going to ring. You see, we were on a “party line.” That meant that four or five of our neighbors used the same phone line. And each household had their own unique ring.
Ours was one long rinnnnnnnnng. “It’s for us!” we’d shout, and race for the phone like it was a bomb that would explode if you didn’t get there in time.
“Ring – Ring” Nope that’s for the Winegarnders down the road. Don’t answer it.
“Ring – Rinnnnng – Ring” Two shorts and a long was for the Williams again. “Holy cow, that’s the third call they’ve gotten today…they must have a death in the family!” my mom would say.
I remember being very proud that our ring was the simplest—one long ring. I thought we had the best ring. While all the other neighbors had to wait and count the rings, we knew after that one long that it was for us. I’ve always been a glass half full kind-a-guy.
When we finally did get a phone call, it was drilled into us that you didn’t mess around on the phone. I’m not sure but I think my mom thought we were paying by the second every time we answered the phone. She had a code for us when we became teenage drivers that when we got to our friends house, we were to let her to know we were OK by letting it ring twice then hanging up. Agent 007 had nothing on the Grubb family.
So even to this day, when you ring me up, please be patient with me if I sound like I’m trying to wrap the conversation up prematurely. My mom’s voice still echoes in the other ear. “Who is that, Ronnie? Don’t dawdle, son, you never know when one of the neighbors may need to make an emergency call!”
Maybe like me you often find myself praying much like my phone conversations. “God? Hi, its Ronnie… I’ll keep it short. Can You do me a favor, there’s this problem I’m dealing with and, well, You get the idea… thanks, see Ya.”
I wish I could overcome my propensity to message God. I know He has as much time to converse with me as I need, but somehow I struggle to voice my true feelings to Him. God’s Son, Jesus, apparently wasn’t raised with a party line phone. He spent hours speaking to His Father, and I think it was long distance. I think I’m going to put my iPhone on silent and ring Him up. How bout you?