Linda LaPlante from Norway, Michigan
I was sitting by my mother’s hospital bed, comforting her in her last moments. It was bittersweet. I was glad to be by her side—a chance I hadn’t had when my father died three years earlier—but I was heartbroken at the same time. I looked in my purse for my cell phone to find some soothing music to play—a request she’d made while she was still lucid. It took me a minute to find the device. I dug it out of my bag and opened the music app.
When I had the music playing softly, I took Mom’s hand. “I’ll always love you,” I said to her. “Don’t be afraid to move on. You’ll be with Dad again. You—”
A jarring ringtone cut off the music. Unbelievable! It had to be a wrong number. Friends knew not to disturb me now. I sent the call to voicemail without even looking at the screen. Moments later, Mom’s breathing slowed, then stopped. We’d said our last goodbye.
At home alone hours later, I remembered that I’d forwarded calls from my home phone to my cell. I checked my landline’s missed calls to see who had interrupted such an important moment with Mom. I recognized the number immediately—and the name that went with it: G Butterfield. My father’s name and number. It was Dad, calling Mom home.
Kay Ferrell from Greenville, North Carolina
With my arms full of groceries, I struggled up the steps of the back porch and into the kitchen. As I set everything down, I reached for my cell phone in my back pocket—and realized I’d somehow made a call. My phone was dialing my friend Jennifer. She picked up before I had the chance to hang up the call.
“Sorry!” I said, fumbling with the phone to bring it to my ear. “I must’ve pocket-dialed you. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“Actually, it’s no bother at all,” she said. “Just the opposite, in fact. My daughter is sick with a terrible virus. I wanted someone to pray with, but I wondered who to call…”
Jennifer got her answer—and all the prayers she needed for her daughter to make a quick recovery.
Nancy Bland from Chambersburg, Pennsylvania
I’d just returned from running errands and saw I had one new message in my voice mail. I pressed play and heard a gravelly voice I didn’t recognize. The man had a slight Southern accent. He introduced himself as Bud and said he was looking for someone named Janet, then he left a phone number with a Virginia area code. I hope it’s not important, I thought, because Janet won’t get this message…
“I’m looking forward to seeing you and Ben,” the message ended.
Huh, that’s funny, I thought. I actually knew a Janet whose husband’s name was Ben. I’d just seen her earlier at Bible study. She was looking forward to hosting some friends from Texas.
Janet. Ben. Could it be…? What were the chances Janet’s friend would call me? Plus, what about that Virginia area code?
At the risk of looking silly, I gave Janet a call. “Have your guests arrived yet?”
“No,” she said. “They ought to have arrived by now, but they haven’t even called.”
“This is going to sound completely random,” I said, “but one of them wouldn’t happen to be named Bud, would he?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Janet said. “Why?”
I told her the story and gave Janet the Virginia telephone number, just in case. It turned out that Bud and his wife were running late, and they had decided to spend the night in Virginia before heading to Janet’s house the next day. They didn’t want her to worry about them. And even though Bud had dialed the wrong number, thanks to a divine operator, Janet got the message.
