This week I spoke with my daughter in Spain. Twice. One time we turned on video, with no extra charge. The indulgence still tickles me. I recall when my sister went to high school across the country, and our family anticipated a phone call with her. My dad set up a speaker, so that we could all hear her voice. It was epic. When John and I dated long distance in the late seventies, we restricted our calls to Saturdays when the rates were low. 

 

But the story an elderly woman told me today topped all that. She was a telephone operator in the fifties, and when people intended to make an international call, they gave two days notice. This was to assure that the receiver of the call would be home to answer. My friend stayed on the line to listen. This was not to assuage her curiosity, but rather so that she could keep track of the quality of the connection. If it got too bad, which it often did, she would detract from the cost on their bill. 

 

If I can read between the lines, I would infer that all of those talkers and listeners were grateful. Being able to communicate across the miles is a tender gift. So is connecting across the room, but that occurrence is so frequent it lacks the proper hoopla. 

 

The same woman who listened in on international calls told me about another time she was the recipient of communication. When her husband was diagnosed with cancer, she was washed in a sense of peace. My description to you is inadequate to capture her face, and I imagine her own words fell short of what it was like to feel it, many years ago. Yet the reassurance held her through what was a scary time. There are few antidotes for loss, but this one was. 

 

While I laughed at the mental picture of her eavesdropping on those conversations between people who ached to be together, it reminds me of the angels who are probably listening to all of us. When we talk quietly to those who are gone, or send prayers, or simply feel the ache, it seems likely that there are spiritual messengers helping that love be conveyed both ways, not over miles, but across the veil. 

 

It is up to me to remember to pick up the phone.