I’d visited a friend who had recently had a baby a couple times already. Traveling to her house takes some time. And a sturdy vehicle. I just wasn’t sure I could make the trek again this week, but I know how it is to feel isolated and homebound. I was torn and unsure as to how I could let her know I was thinking about her. A note seemed too insignificant, she doesn’t have cell service so I couldn’t text her, and yet it didn’t feel right to not do anything. So the idea came to just call her. I know you’re thinking I’m an idiot for not thinking of that right off the bat, but it’s not usually my first inclination. I was surprisingly nervous. I felt awkward, unpracticed, rusty; I usually only talk to my family and a few close friends on the phone. But I found her number, I thought of her sitting in her living room surrounded by her boys and little baby and I immediately felt at ease. I know it wasn’t the same as being in the same room, and I still felt a little guilty for not having made the trip out to her house. But given the circumstances, I did the best I could. I felt like we connected, that even my small offering lifted her spirits. And mine.
Her gracious acceptance gave me courage to try again. As I’ve been thinking of some of the women who pop into my mind, I’m perplexed as to why. But I’ve known God long enough to trust these random ideas. It seemed too formal to actually visit a friend I’d been thinking of, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with her name. All I knew was we hadn’t connected at church lately and I missed our more regular interactions of the summer. A note would be too weird. But out of the blue I remembered my other phone call and I felt encouraged. It was exactly what I felt like doing. I don’t know what she thought about the getting a call in the middle of the morning about nothing at all, but I think it was good. Because she told me since she’s taken a break from social media she’s been missing connection and loves it when friends call. I’m still not sure what the purpose of it was. She seemed completely fine. Maybe it was for me? Because it helped me feel closer to her and reminded me of how much I adore and admire her. She inspires me, she’s good for my soul. And so our twenty or so minutes together became a happy piece of my morning.
And then I saw a friend online who’d just had surgery. I remembered that I’d wanted to go help her clean, but with a sick kid at home I couldn’t get away. So I took the easy way out once again and just called to check in. She was so congenial and easy to talk to. I loved hearing her voice and connecting for even a few moments. Our short conversation made me love her even more.
A lady from church and I have talked on the phone repeatedly in the past few months. I’m delighted by her cute little voice and her energy and her vulnerability. She was an easier one to reach out to via the phone because she’s older and old-school; and it was my only option to communicate with her. We wouldn’t have had that same connection if we simply covered our business via email or waited till the next week at church. I’ve felt a closeness with her growing as we’ve discussed her concerns over the phone when they’ve arisen.
I’ve wondered why I initially hesitated in each of these instances, why it wasn’t more instinctive to just pick up the phone? I guess it just doesn’t feel as natural these days; texting or a quick message always seems more appropriate and less vulnerable. I guess I feel like I’m interrupting them, that it would feel awkward to not have any real reason for calling. It’s not efficient, maybe even a waste of time to some. Maybe in the back of my mind I wondered if we were that kind of friends.
But these and other recent instances have reminded me of how valuable these sometimes short and sometimes longer voice conversations really are. And now I’m remembering how much I’ve enjoyed visiting on the phone over the years.
I love that our college son calls all the time. For nothing. Just to pass the time walking to work or walking home. To talk about the weather. His dismal tests. His workload. The perplexities of dating. Snowboarding. Summer plans. I love cuddling up late on Sunday nights in bed with Todd and our phone between us catching up on the week all over again with him.
The best calls of the year have been when our missionary sons have been allowed to call home on Mother’s Day and Christmas. A little weird, the kids all of a sudden turn shy, no one wants to hold the phone, I’m the one carrying the conversation, it’s a little uncomfortable. But there’s still nothing like hearing our sons’ voices after such a long time apart, it makes us feel close and connected just like that.
I remember my mom every once in awhile calling her parents in Scotland. The scratchy connection and their thick accents made it hard for us to understand each other; but I knew these were special occasions for my mom, who left her family to start anew in America, possibly her lifeline to her family and former life.
Likewise, I loved Sunday nights in college when I’d call home across the states. Long distance calls were cheaper then, so most of our friends called their families too. I was homesick in the beginning and these calls were my lifeline when the only other communication we had was the mail. Nothing soothed my troubled heart like my mom or dad’s familiar voices. For whatever reason, even though cost isn’t an issue anymore, the tradition continues and Todd still calls his parents on Sunday nights, as do his siblings.
I cherish the quiet times I can escape and hole up in my room on my soft red chair my dad made with my phone and a good friend or family member on the other end. Time passes like it did in the olden days when my dad would pick up the other end of the curly cord and tell me to get off.
Just like when I was 17, I’m relaxed with my usuals and it’s no big deal; I look forward to hearing close friends and family members on the other end. But as awkward as I initially felt calling these friends I don’t usually talk to on the phone, I’m so glad I followed my inclination to just try it. Surely a text would’ve sufficed, we would’ve touched bases eventually or some other way, it would’ve been fine. But in these instances, our phone conversations seemed timely, a little more personal and invested; I felt a surprising closeness and intimacy that is sometimes lacking in written communication. Admittedly, not the same as a face to face visit. But maybe just right for where we were in our days.
I know how busy life can get. And how we yearn to execute all the good ideas that stream through our heads. But what if it’s ok to not have to drive across town to every time we think of someone? What if instead of doing nothing because we don’t think it’s good enough, once in awhile we just picked up the phone instead? What if we called an old friend out of the blue? Would it be weird or would we pick up right where we left off? I can tell you it’s as if no time has passed and I’m calling to ask for butter. What if we called a friend we see all the time but never really get to talk to? What if instead of planning out the carpool on our screens, we called and said hello at the same time? What if instead of answering her sad face emoji with a heart we picked up the phone to get the whole story, to offer a listening ear, to talk it out with her? What if instead of listening to another podcast when it’s time to do the blinds we called and got caught up instead? What if every now and then we just cuddled up on the couch and indulged in a good old fashioned heart to heart conversation on the phone with someone we love? What if our phones could still be a lifeline? What if, instead of waiting for an emergency, we used them to spread some good? As a tool to listen without distraction? What if we really could reach through the phone and touch someone’s heart, lift someone’s spirits, or make a small difference in someone’s day? What if we used our phones for more than looking up addresses and playing games and keeping track of our appointments? What if we used them to talk and connect the way we used to?
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