disembodied voice

My husband has a new cellphone for work. It arrived in the mail the other day; he'd been watching for it. It has internet access and some other slick capabilities. He referred to it as "sexy," an adjective that I don't care for when it's applied to things. (In fact, I don't care for it applied to human beings, either, if my husband is the speaker.) The first morning he had the phone it began ringing in an unfamiliar tone which he did not immediately recognize as a summons. By the time he realized the cheerful little blast of electronic music was his phone, found the phone, and figured out how to answer a call, the caller had hung up. And then any aura of sexiness that still clung to the clever little device evaporated when a very unsexy woman's voice said, "I'm sorry, the voicemail box for this number has not been set up yet."



Overhearing the voice, I began to wonder why the disembodied voice was female. Was it a nod to the days when executives all had female assistants instead of sexy hardware? I remembered then the female voice of my sister's GPS unit, the one who tells her where to turn and when to stop, who announces when she has arrived at her destination, sometimes in the middle of a cornfield. Perhaps the gender of the voice is a nod to motherhood, the dashboard version of the backseat driver, always ready to tell the driver what choices to make and when he has arrived. Hmmm, maybe buying a GPS reveals a deepseated need for a mother figure.



But my real interest this morning is my husband's phone. I wonder if I could record the messages on his phone myself. (After all, this whole phone thing may not even be healthy; do I really want my husband to get in the habit of doing what some other woman tells him to? Isn't that my province?) If I rerecorded all the stock messages he could hear my pleasant voice instead of this sterile, automated woman. I could tell him when his mailbox is full, or when he has messages waiting. I could also be the one who tells bothersome callers that he is too busy just now.



Perhaps I could expand to recording his reminders, like when his laundry is ready to be picked up, or when payments are due. I could even record my own suggestions and reminders; he might forget which were his own like -"Take the Toyota for inspection" and "Call garbage service," and which were mine, "Bring home flowers" or "Leave work by 6:15 at the latest so you can make it home in time for dinner." Let's see, I could add "Fix that leak you've been promising to to get to, Clean out the garage; Assemble the grill before Saturday." I've heard these devices have phenomenal memory capacity. The possibilities are virtually endless. Actually!



Suddenly I remember a passage in the book I'm reading that takes place in Zimbabwe. It mentions the Shona word for cellphone, which being literally translated is "the screaming in the pocket." And I think it may be the modern equivalent of the ancient "constant dripping on a rainy day," to which Solomon likened a contentious wife. I am reminded again of the ways that we inexorably bend technology to serve our human nature, which never changes. So while the ancient Israelite woman had to content herself with being " a constant dripping on a rainy day," and that metaphorically, I can become "the screaming in the pocket," literally.



So, on second thought I don't think I'll be recording any new messages today. And maybe I should edit some old ones before they get replayed. I think I've got my work cut out for me.

found while carrying a box

This morning I found a ring I lost two years ago. I was unpacking boxes – carrying something from the kitchen to the pantry. I happened to look down and saw, there in the crevice between the kitchen sill and the pantry floorboards a small, shiny circlet. Stooping down, I retrieved a tiny ring I had not seen since we moved out of this house nearly two years ago. I don’t know if it had been lying there the entire time or if it fell out of the box I was emptying. I didn’t hear it fall, but it might have, or perhaps I stepped on a board in the just the right place to dislodge it from a hiding place. Our house was occupied while we were away, so it seems unlikely that it had lain there unnoticed for the entire twenty-one months. It is a mystery to me, but it fit my smallest finger perfectly once again.

I could not help but think of all the rings I have lost over the years; I love rings, but I seem to have terrible luck with them. There was the dark, square cut garnet my parents gave me for graduation and my high school ring, the tiny emerald with a diamond chip which was the first ring my husband ever gave me and my wedding ring which actually fit my finger 23 years and seven children ago but was misplaced for years after I removed it during a pregnancy that made my hands and feet swell. I found the wedding band in a drawer during our last move, but the others have never been found though I have searched for them and prayed over them (once I knew the name of the patron saint in charge of lost items) and turned couches and car seats upside down and inside out. Despite my best efforts, accompanied sometimes by my tears, most of the rings have remained lost to me. So it seemed doubly strange that I should find this small, insignificant one that I had forgotten about, that I was not even looking for.

It reminded me of wisdom, and how it shows up in unexpected flashes, a bright, silvery gleam that catches the unsuspecting eye. Sometimes I have felt as if all my seeking and praying and crying out for guidance, for wisdom, for enlightenment have been utterly ignored. Like Milton, I have “troubled deaf heaven with my bootless cries,” and come up empty handed. No matter how diligently I seek, how late I burn the midnight oil, how earnestly I hope for the treasure to appear, so often I find nothing.

And then, when I least expect it, when I have forgotten to look or even to care, I stumble upon a treasure, a truth, a comfort, a clue. In an odd place, from a strange source, Truth quietly catches my attention, and I recognize it. God can use anyone, any situation, any old crack in the floor to teach or instruct, comfort or challenge us. He can be silent and unfindable for reasons I do not understand, but He can also show up in unexpected places. I have learned I need to keep my eyes open. All the time.