The Right Wrong Number
I received a phone call many years ago which change my life. Although time has passed, I still remember the “wrong” number as if it was yesterday. During quiet times, I have reviewed it a thousand times. It’s my privilege to share it with you now.
“Hello, Michael is that you?”
“I’m calling for Michael. Is he there?”
“I’m sorry; you must have the wrong number.”
“No, it can’t be the wrong number. This is the one Michael gave me before he left. This is 555-5146?”
“It is, but Michael does not live here. Good bye.”
“Oh, please! I need to talk to Michael again. He told me if I called this number I could get help if I needed. It’s very important,” the soft, fragile female voice is almost crying.
Tick-tock-tick-tock, the clock’s measuring the silence.
I’m sure it’s nothing. The lawn mowing can wait a little while. “Perhaps I can help.”
“Didn’t Michael give you this number?”
Softly, hesitantly, “You’d be willing to listen to an old woman?”
I remember my own mother’s desire to talk with me before she unexpectedly died. I thought I didn’t have time then. Perhaps, just perhaps…
“Please, I have time.”
“Well, I don’t want to bother you and I’m not sure where to start.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you met Michael?”
“Michael! Oh, you don’t want to hear that. It’s hard to believe anyway.”
“Please don’t think I’m crazy or anything. I first met Michael a few months ago…in a dream.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have answered the phone. I’ll give her a few more minutes and then make an excuse to hang up.
“It was just after our son was killed.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry.”
“He was driving over to see me. We had not seen each other in many years. He ran off as a teenager. We’d lost all contact with him.”
I remember the hurt I caused my parents during those years.
She continued, “He had become a Christian and wanted to tell me about his new life. It was too bad my husband passed away a short time before. We prayed so hard for him.”
“I remember my parents prayed for me. Those were tough years for a young man. Lots of temptations.”
“That’s what he said too.”
I can’t believe this conversation. It’s like talking to my mother. Lord, what are you trying to tell me?
“You said you met Michael in a dream?”
“Oh yes, I felt alone. I needed to talk to someone. I’m confined to my home. I used to go to church every time it was open. Then I got sick and never recovered. A new pastor came; he is real good with the young people. I had visitors for awhile and then, well, I guess they just got too busy. You know how it is.”
Yes, I do know. Too busy to do the right thing sometimes. “Yes, I know but it shouldn’t happen. You haven’t told me about your dream.”
“Oh, I’m getting for forgetful. Please forgive me. Michael came to me in a dream one night. I had been praying God would send someone to talk to. The dream was so real. While I was praying, actually dreaming I was praying, Michael tapped me on the shoulder and asked if we could talk for awhile, said he had time. It was so good. He seemed to know just what to say when I told him of my pain. Not physical pain, pain in my heart. We talked in several dreams and then one night he said he had another mission he had to go to.”
“That’s what he called it. Funny, I never thought of it before; another mission. Do you think…no, it couldn’t have been. Could it?”
Another mission. Michael. An angel? The Michael! “You mean Michael, the Archangel? I…I…don’t know, perhaps.” Maybe! Could it have been?
“He told me then I could call this number if I needed to talk.”
“Ma’am, he gave you the right number.”
We talked and visited often over the next four years. I was at her bedside when she passed on to glory.
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