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Just this minute, the phone rang. I said, "Hello" and the person on the other end said, "Who is this?" It sounded like an older man with an asian accent. (I thought for a minute that it might be my friend, Roy, but his accent is quite young.)
It's not considered overly good manners to just say "who is this" and sometimes I am irritated and taken aback, but this time I replied, quite brightly, "This is Rebecca!"
"Oh...what number is this?" It was pretty apparent at this point that this was a wrong number but I told him my phone number. "Oh...", he said. "I have a wrong number."
"No problem", I responded nicely, thinking that he would just hang up. But, instead he said, "You have the beautiful voice."
"Well, thank you", I said, feeling light and happy. And he hung up.
Here's what's funny. I really believe him.
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8 comments:
I am so happy to hear that you believed him. He was spot on.
This is so special Rebecca - believing the good things people say to us is huge. What a happy thing to experience on a Monday !
no wrong number there. you do indeed
"have the beautiful voice!"
What a magical exchange!
Reading "Under the Sycamore Tree", I was blessed by your poem about the jubilant dance of dying. It was a lovely gift, to read your words, and I just wanted to tell you "Thank You"! Your words offer a lovely (and thought provoking) perspective on death, and how it is as necessary as the daily rising and setting of the sun.
Thanks for all of your comments. That encounter is still so present with me. I think that probably there is some human person attached to that voice on the other end of the phone line out there some where. But, I can't help but thinking over and over again that I received a phone call from an angel and that it was something that I really needed to hear. And so I go about telling myself, I have the beautiful voice. And I also know that the sound that he heard that he thought was so beautiful was the sound of the spirit, flowing out through my voice. Love to all of you....
Mary, Thanks for your feedback on my poem. The most wonderful thing about poetry is that everyone paints a little different picture, is affected by a different symbolism, and takes away their own meaning. For me, it truly was a poem about the cycles that we repeatedly go through in our lives, the repeated surrender, the recurrent theme of dying to what is no longer helpful in us and to our own attempts at control so that we will truly find life. But, as I had written to Macrina, I never really think about death in the fall, just a different season of life.
I popped over to your blog and it looks like you are brand new to the blogging world. Welcome! I am a newbie myself and am loving the community that I am finding here. If you have a chance, peruse some of the blogs that I follow. Some beautiful souls reside within each one of them.
I wonder if one of the sisters you referred to in your blog was Macrina? : ) I am in Alaska, but I have a dear friend who is on her way to Arkansas to see Macrina right now. What a blessing!
Love...
Soooo... is it still a wrong number?
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