The lost phone

Whenever a storm arrives, there’s an uptick in “panic” grocery shopping. I forgot that trend when I told my husband I would drive to Fred Meyer, grab a few items, and be back in time for him to go to his doctor’s appointment. I won’t say that I ran through the store, but I was certainly in a hurry to get everything done so I could honor my commitment and be home before the storm hit.

One of the aisles was blocked by a personal shopper and an older bearded gentleman wearing a biker leather vest. They were having an animated conversation as he pointed to her phone. She made some dismissive gesture, and he walked up to me and asked if I would call his phone, explaining that he thought he left it on one of the shelves while he was shopping.

I took a deep breath trying to corral my rushed spirit as we wandered to the bread shelf. I called his number to no avail and then asked him where he had been previously. He thought hard and then motioned to the milk case. So, I walked to the milk case with him and called, again to no avail.

I noticed as he turned away momentarily that the back of his leather vest had John 16 imprinted on it, and when he turned, I said, “John 16,” and smiled. He looked at me with absolute earnestness and said, “Jesus is all I’ve got.”

“Buddy, it’s all any of us got,” I replied, and he smiled broadly.

I explained to him that I was in a little bit of a rush because I had to drive back to Ferndale, but that I would keep calling his number as I wandered through the store and maybe he would be nearby and hear it. He thanked me, and I felt his hand touch my shoulder gently.

I ran into him again at the front door, and he was still looking panicked and a little lost. I came up with what I thought was a great plan. He could go to his car, and I would drive my car to his car and call his number in case his phone had fallen between the seats.

‘It’s not there, I checked.”

“Well let’s try again.”

Rushing through the wind and rain, I arrived at my car, and I did something I rarely do: I started talking to Jesus out loud.

“Jesus, I know it’s just a phone, but this man needs a miracle. It’s not world peace, but it would give him peace.”

When I came around the corner to his truck, no one was there, so I called again hoping that he had leaned over a seat to search. But no, the car was empty. I saw that he was still in front of the store, so I pulled up and let him know I had tried.

“I remembered why I went in,” he said. “I bought milk and bacon, so I’m going back to the bacon aisle.” His eyes and spirit invited me back in.

“I’m sorry - I have to go, but I will keep calling until I get an answer, and maybe you will hear your phone ringing somewhere.”

When I got to the first stoplight before the freeway, I realized that my whole body had become obsessed with a need for a miracle for the old man who lost his phone. I called over and over and over and over still to no avail. I called my husband to let him know that I might be running a little late, and as I began to relay the story to him, I began to weep uncontrollably. I was broken.

In a world, turned upside down by cruelty and violence and small mindedness, I just desperately needed a win for a vulnerable person in a tight spot. I was so desperate to do one kind thing against the avalanche of unkindness all around me.

I called his number all the way home. I have been calling since.

And I will continue to call,

because I promised him that I would call until somebody answered, and I will not be able to sleep if I don’t keep that promise.