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Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.
–– Proverbs 25:25
Though a good portion of my life has been spent organizing words into sentences that hopefully bear some semblance of meaning, I must confess to the painful truth that I am a poor conversationalist. I do not possess the gift of gab. One inevitable consequence is that I do not receive a lot of phone calls. Thus, despite my ripened age and professional experience, I am still startled when the phone rings. Anxiety and anticipation collide as I fumble for my phone, wondering who it could be and what news they may bring.
So, last Wednesday, I was finishing up a meeting when my phone rang, accelerating my pulse and jarring my nerves as I looked to see who in the world wished to talk to me. It was a FaceTime call … from my younger son … calling from Mumbai, India. Whaaat? I am of an age that I still cannot fathom that this is possible. In fact, I’m of the opinion that even George Jetson would be blown away by such technology. How can I be having a relaxed face-to-face, eyeball to eyeball conversation with my son about traffic in Mumbai when we are separated by 8,300+ miles? In fact, while we were talking, he texted me a video he took while riding a tuk tuk car, an adventure that can make a roller coaster seem tame. How is this even possible, not only the wireless technology required, but also that my son is on a brief work trip on the other side of the globe? Remember, I’m of the generation that would let our parents know we had arrived at our destination (perhaps an hour’s distance from home) by dialing them up on a payphone, not to talk, but to allow their phone to ring twice, the signal that we were safe.
Amidst the unceasing assembly line of societal change is the reality that the scope of our children’s lives is so much broader than ours. At the age of twenty-eight, I had only traveled to one foreign country, and it was barely into Canada, having crossed the Minnesota border for a brief fishing trip in the Lake of the Woods region. By the age of twenty-eight, my sons, Noah and Seth, have each traveled to a minimum of eleven countries. In preparation for his trip to Mumbai, Seth called Noah for packing advice, knowing that Noah had already traveled to India twice during medical school. Similarly, we have a niece who rivals Dora the Explorer with her traveling adventures. She is regularly flying off to exotic locales around the globe, seemingly on a whim. Meanwhile, I get stressed thinking about an overnight in Asheville, struggling with PPS (Packing Paralyzation Syndrome).
Therefore, the notion of a leisurely video chat with someone ten time zones removed from the Carolinas boggles my parochial brain. And yet, what a grace such a call is, to know your loved one is safe and well. Soldiers in the pre-cellular worlds of Europe, the Pacific Islands, Korea, and Vietnam would write unrealistically optimistic letters home to shield their families from the horrors they were enduring, hoping against hope that their loved ones would at least be comforted with the illusion of their safety. Yet, when news slowly arrived, via train, air, road, and foot, that their beloved soldier actually was safe, the celebrations were no less exultant than the sight for sore eyes of a child’s smiling face from a cell phone on the other side of the globe. Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country. Love yearns for such news. Though mainline Presbyterians are not known for our exuberance, the depth of one’s love is so often expressed in the simple plea: Will you give us a call when you get there?
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