Build on the True Foundation

The Old Phone

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones
in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the
wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little
to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my
mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived
an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was
nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's
number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day
while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool
bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was
terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one
home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally
arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the
footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I
unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
"Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A
click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came
readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the quest ion.

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,"
said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked
her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had
caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then
said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I
asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring
joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom
of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul
always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I
asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When
I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed
my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden
box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone
that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the
memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often,
in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of
security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and
kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in
Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15
minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then
without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and
said, "Information Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you
please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess
your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have
any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"

I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I
asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice
answered, "Information." I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been
working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died
five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your
name was Paul?" "Yes." I answered.

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you
called.

Let me read it to you."

The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll
know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

Whose life have you touched today?

Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you
long for.

Life is a journey .. NOT a guided tour.

I loved this story and just had to pass it on. I hope you enjoy it
and get a blessing from it just as I did.

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