Who’s
Calling?
Then the Lord made answer: Write down the vision, insert it on tablets,
ready for a herald to carry it with speed, for there is still a vision for the
appointed time. At the destined hour it
will come in breathless haste, it will not fail. If it delays, wait for
it; for when it comes will be no time to linger. (Habakkuk
2)
Like many other people in lockdown, I have been using the
extra time at home to do some spring cleaning.
One day at the beginning of this month, I was up in the attic when
I caught sight of a framed picture which, many years ago, I had hung on my
classroom wall, in the hope of inspiring my pupils – and myself! Thinking that it would make a good topic for Our
Golden Network, I took a photo of the picture and transferred it to my
computer, ready to illustrate the text, which I had begun to compose. But somehow the words just wouldn’t come in
their usual flow, and so by the 18th of June I was feeling more and
more puzzled and frustrated.
Nowadays I need a siesta in
the middle of the day to ‘recharge my batteries,’ so after my lunchtime snack I
took myself off to bed, hoping that a snooze would help me to think more
clearly. But what happened next turned
out to be far from clear!
On getting up again, I checked my phone for missed
calls. I found that there had been one
from an unknown number. It didn’t begin
with 08, so wasn’t a company call, nor did it have a local code. Curious, I dialled the number - and the
following conversation ensued
Unknown Lady: Hello?
KB: Erm, this is Kathleen, returning your call.
UL: What?
Who are you?
KB: I’m Kathleen Bates, phoning from Prestwick.
UL: Prestwick?
That’s in Scotland!
KB: That’s right.
Have you ever been to Prestwick?
UL: Oh, yes…
I remember going there once on holiday in 1955, when I was 15.
KB (after a quick
calculation!): Oh, so you’re about
the same age as me!
UL: Well, I’ll be 80 in July.
KB: Really!
My 80th birthday was last August. How are you managing in this lockdown?
UL: My daughter buys my shopping. When she comes with it, we sit well apart in
the garden, or I sit in the living room while she stays in the kitchen.
A very pleasant chat
followed. I discovered that her name is
Pauline and that, like me, she is a widow.
Her husband, Fred Beattie, who died 8 years ago, used to say that the
Beattie family originally belonged to Scotland – somewhere on the east side -
until his great-grandfather plus five brothers all came to Lancashire – why,
exactly, Fred didn’t know. Perhaps in
search of work? Or perhaps because of
the typhoid and cholera epidemics in the mid-19th century?
I asked if there was any
family connection with Beattie’s biscuit factory in Glasgow, where I lived
until the age of eight. I remember
enjoying the biscuits, and how I used to giggle when reciting a “naughty”
little rhyme – which I proceeded to repeat to Pauline - somewhat lowering the
tone of our talk, I’m afraid! (I wonder
if any of my contemporaries remember it?) Beattie’s biscuits are the best,
In your stomach they digest, Pull the plug and they go west (= get lost,
disappear), Beattie’s biscuits are the best!
As Pauline replied that she didn’t know, I promised to make
enquiries.
We went on to discuss the huge
adjustment we each had had to make as widows, especially when going on holiday
alone for the first time. Pauline had
gone back to Malta, where she and Fred had spent many happy hours. She made a
hotel booking for three weeks. But just
after arriving there she fell and broke her wrist and had to go to
hospital. However, she didn’t tell her
son or daughter, not wanting to upset them.
“They got a big shock when I
arrived at the airport and saw my arm in plaster! But, you know, a lot of people at the hotel
felt sorry for me, so they talked to me a lot and I didn’t feel alone for the
rest of my stay.” She went on, “Fred and
I used to do everything together. He
didn’t like to stay indoors in the afternoon, so we went for a walk every
day. Looking back now, I’m afraid that
that was a mistake. I don’t have any
friends now. I used to have, but they
have died…”
Then she asked, “Why did
you phone me?”
“But I didn’t!” I
exclaimed. “I was just returning your call.”
“But how could I have known
your number?” she asked, perplexed.
Ah, how indeed? That’s the delightful question! Another one to add to my large collection of
inexplicable happenings, including the mystery which I described in this year’s
January blog post. I suddenly
realised that this, rather than the framed picture, should be my topic
for June! Food for thought…
For who was really
calling? Which of the 80-year-old widows
living alone in lockdown? Had it somehow
or other been arranged at an unseen spiritual level? How easy it would be just to brush it all off
as unimportant, a mere case of ‘crossed wires.’
But how did they become crossed?
Could that, rather, have been a means to an end? A little,
much-needed source of company to lighten our day? I don’t pretend to have an answer. I only know that this unexpected contact
brought me joy by its completely inexplicable nature!
The last week of June is
always one of very mixed emotions for me. This year the 26th is the 33rd
anniversary of my beloved husband’s death.
(33 is a number which always reminds me of Bob, as he was born in
1933.) But then June 27th is
the (56th) anniversary of our wedding day, which I still remember
with great joy.
Over the years the copy of the Bible which Bob
gave me for my birthday in 1984 has been a source of great comfort and
peace. I begin each day by reading the
passage recommended in my current Upper Room booklet, but end the day by
opening the Bible at random, often rediscovering precious marked passages which
have brought me strength in the past.
For example, in John’s Gospel (14), Jesus promised that after his death
he would send the Holy Spirit as advocate and comforter to everyone who obeyed
his two commandments: to love God with all our heart, and our neighbours as
ourselves. In Matthew’s Gospel (5)
he said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” In addition, I have been spiritually refreshed
by so many astonishing coincidences that I have come to think of them as signs
of the “living water” which (in John, 4) Jesus described as “an inner
spring always welling up for eternal life.”
So, this month I am, once
more, full of gratitude for another lovely thought-provoking mystery, and can’t
help murmuring “Nice one, Holy Spirit!”
By way of celebration I will end with this beautiful little prayer which
my friend Muriel taught me:
And now may the God of hope
fill us with joy and peace in believing, that we may abound in hope, in the
power of the Holy Spirit. Amen
