Call Waiting

The phone in Mother’s kitchen had one of those extra-long spiral wound cords. While she talked on the phone, she could cook, set the table, wash dishes… On occasion, she stretched that cord all the way out the back door, across the carport and into the utility room. She’d fold clothes while holding the phone against her shoulder with a crooked neck. If that cord was stretched tight, you knew to stand back. If it slipped off of her neck, that phone retracted like a bullet to its wall mounted base. With two teenage girls in the house, phone access was a biggie, so we got “call waiting” as soon as the feature became available. We are talking old school call waiting so, if you were on the phone and heard the subtle beeping that indicated a second call was coming in, you had to retrace your steps to the wall mounted phone and press the switch hook button. That simple action allowed you to toggle back and forth between calls. Mother turned from the kitchen sink one night explaining, “Hold on a minute Dixie. Let me check this incoming call.” Then, in her sweetest southern voice, offered, “Hello. This is Mary Margaret.” My sister and I were already hovering just in case call number two was for one of us. “We’re on our way Mother,” she stressed as she hung up the phone and yelled for my Daddy. Something was wrong at my grandparents’ house. As we all headed for the door, the phone offered a quick double ring alerting that the original caller had been left twiddling their fingers on hold. We ignored it…

We had no idea what was amiss but were comforted to see no vehicles with flashing lights parked in the driveway. My fear was that my mobility impaired Papaw, having suffered with emphysema for the past few years, had taken a turn for the worse or even perished. But, with the light on in his front facing bedroom, I could see him sitting on the side on his bed gesturing his hands with purpose. When we entered the house, Nanny peeked around the corner and whispered, “Be careful. He has gone slap dab crazy.” We all eased near his bedroom and craned our necks around the door for a look inside. There, sitting on the edge of his bed, was my oxygen dependent Papaw holding a cigarette lighter in one hand and an oxygen hose in the other. His lighter was one of the old stainless steel flip top lighters. He sat there flipping the lid open and clicking it shut over and over in an ominous rhythm. Now, in the 1970’s, oxygen concentrators were not available, so the other end of his oxygen tube was connected to a full 150-gallon torpedo shaped metal container of 100% oxygen.

My Father asked, “Herman, what’s going on?” To which my Papaw replied, “I told Phoebe (his wife and my Nanny) I want a cigarette!” Nanny chimed in, “He just had part of a lung removed and the doctor said he can’t smoke anymore!” Papaw held the lighter and the oxygen cord up before us indicating the gravity of the situation. I could hear the oxygen hissing from the tube like a cornered snake. Then he looked my Daddy square in the eyes and assured, “Dennis, it’s up to you. I’m lighting something up tonight! It can be a cigarette or this oxygen. You decide.”  My Daddy turned to my Nanny and said, “Phoebe, give the man his cigarettes.”

With order restored, we headed back home. The phone gave two quick rings as we walked in the door. Aunt Dixie was still patiently on hold! Mother picked up the receiver and said, “Dixie, you will never guess what just happened.”

I don’t know where to start. For me there are several lessons in this real-life event. The danger of smoking and its addictive powers is the most glaring. But there is a lesson that is hidden amongst the words. We should always keep a direct line of communication with Jesus open. Have you ever put Jesus on hold in your life? I have and, like Aunt Dixie, He was patiently waiting for me to pick up exactly where we left off.