This morning, my husband came to where I was to ask me to come see something he found online. I thought by the way it had obviously touched his heart that it might be something that involved his ancestry research. He often comes to where I am to have me come help him save images and web pages he has found so they won't be lost. I sometimes ask for a minute to finish what I am doing, but not this time. The look on his face was unique, and I knew immediately this was something extremely special to him. I was unprepared for it to involve me.
What he had found, was a picture of a room with a row of Ham radios, and two rotary dial phones on a plywood desk. "This is the Mars station, where I called you from Vietnam." It took a second or two for me to understand what he was saying to me." That is the very phone I used to call you with." His voice broke as he recalled the preciousness of those moments.
Calls from Vietnam were only possible by way of a Ham radio operator back then. So much depended on who was operating radios when the call bounced around the world, and if there was interferene, or weather that distorted what you said. I both loved and dreaded the calls. I loved them because my beloved was on the other end of the call. I knew at that moment he was alive and well, if I could understand what he was saying. But I dreaded the hardship of not being able to talk more than a minute or two, and trying to say more than "I love you," in such a short time. I dreaded hearing a warped sound that was supposed to be him, but sounded nothing like him, and not knowing how to answer the garble. Was he really OK or was this a call to tell me he was wounded. Did he ask me something and I was not giving the answer he had hoped for and spent so much energy to get a chance to ask. I always felt like my legs were going to fall out from under me once the call was lost. How could the contact be so short? For an instant, he was there and was gone and sometimes I didn't even know if he was OK. Was it as difficult for him as for me if he couldn't hear my voice? But I remember every call, and the helplessness of wondering if it would be the last.
I tried to reassure myself, he would call again, next chance he got. And I prayed that the next time I would be able to hear every word, his voice..."Please dear God, his voice."
There have been times in life that I longed to hear the voice of God as much as I longed to hear Jimmy's voice when he was so far away and unable to make connections without the aid of those precious Ham operators. A friend told me tonight that he connected someone to her loved one oversees in the 80's, and I was able to thank him for doing it, even though I could never thank the ones who connected myself and Jimmy. I am so thankful that I don't have to go through someone else to talk to God, and know that he hears me. Every word clearly. Some faiths seem to teach we aren't worthy or able to go directly to the throne of God, but the Word teaches that we have access. And I am so thankful for that, because it would be horrible to think I had to go through someone else to talk to the greatest love of my life...my savoir, best friend, most precious family member, and Lord of my life. I want nothing to ever come between our conversation, ever. And as for, my conversations with my husband, thank God for cell phones, but I still hate poor reception. Always will.
Jesus, speak to me even in my old age, even if I become an invalid, and my mind fails. Please let me hear your voice clearly for all eternity. AMEN
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