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Miracle of the Broken Answering Machine

A life was saved by the call I almost didn't make

by Beth Reinke

The shrill ring sounded in my ear for the seventh time. "I guess they don't have an answering machine or it would have picked up by now," I said aloud into the phone receiver. It was the second day I had attempted, unsuccessfully, to RSVP for an in-home demonstration party hosted by my friend Kristin Green.

A few days later, I was standing at the kitchen counter pouring a glass of milk when I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to call Kristin again. Glancing at the clock, I hesitated, mentally ticking off the list of things I needed to do before ushering my two preschoolers to bed.

Then I remembered what I had been reading during my devotional time. I was working through a study guide on the Holy Spirit written by Charles Stanley. The well-known author/pastor emphasized that being obedient to God meant submitting to the Holy Spirit's sudden promptings of what to do or say.

I quickly punched in Kristin's number. Her husband, Paul, cheerfully answered. I rattled off my message for Kristin. Then I heard myself asking " … and how are you, Paul?" even though I didn't know him well.

He laughed as he told me a bee had stung him on the hand earlier that day.

"Ouch!" I said empathetically, cringing inside. Since my family suffered from myriad allergies, bees were among my least favorite of God's creatures.

"Are you allergic to bee stings?"

I asked, trying to discover why he would bother to mention such a thing.

"No," he said, "but, you know, my tongue is feeling a little funny."

Stay calm, think quickly
A tingle of fear raced down my spine. I knew some people are extremely allergic to bee stings. The poison can cause their tongue to swell and block their airway, possibly leading to suffocation.

Paul seemed fine on the phone. His voice is animated and his speech sounds normal, so surely his tongue couldn't be swollen, I thought. But I drew a shaky breath, and decided to err on the side of safety.

"Paul," I blurted out, "you could be in a life-threatening situation. Do you have any Benadryl in the house?"

He wasn't sure. I instructed him to scour the medicine cabinet and, if he found some, to take a dose immediately. Then I hung up, promising to call back shortly.

Oh, Lord, I prayed, what should I do for Paul? He's alone with three little boys, and he might be getting sick. I knew from our conversation that the baby was safe in his crib. But the other two, ages two and three-and-a-half, were not in bed yet.

I contemplated calling 911, explaining that someone ten miles away from me might be having a severe reaction to a bee sting. Instead, I dialed a friend who lived less than a mile from Paul. She could get to him faster than an ambulance, plus she was a registered nurse. But no one answered.

I called Paul back. He had not found any Benadryl. His conversation was quite pleasant and articulate.

Call the neighbors
I kept asking questions. Finally, Paul admitted that his hand was feeling funny, too. Realizing someone should check on him immediately, I asked Paul for phone numbers of his closest neighbors. He joked about not being good with phone numbers, but was able to give me the first and last names of a few neighbors, even spelling their last names. I hung up and snatched my phone book from the drawer.

I flipped through it as fast as my trembling fingers could turn the pages, looking for numbers. At the first house an answering machine clicked on.

My pulse racing, I scrambled to locate the second number. When a woman answered, her voice was like salve on my anxious heart. I poured out the story, and she agreed to run over to Paul's house right away. Thank you, Lord, I prayed silently. And please let Paul be okay. Those boys need their daddy.

Just to be sure help had arrived, I called Paul's house again a few minutes later. The neighbor I had contacted was there with another neighbor who was a nurse. The nurse brought some Benadryl from her house and coaxed Paul into swallowing it, while an ambulance was on its way. Less than ten minutes elapsed between the time Paul told me about the bee sting and the time the neighbor administered the Benadryl.

The next morning, Kristin told me the complete story. She and her oldest son came home after his soccer game to find a group of people gathered in the driveway, while neighborhood wives watched the younger boys in the house. After my call, the neighbor had found Paul slumped in an easy chair, too weak to walk or lift his arms, with his face so swollen his eyes were barely visible. His hand was swollen to three times its normal size.

Why hadn't Paul told me how ill he was feeling? I wondered. I apologized for not immediately calling 911 and silently chastised myself for not instantly recognizing the severity of the situation. Kristin assured me Paul had a long-standing habit of downplaying any illness, even when he had a terrible case of the flu.

"I think he's learned his lesson this time," she said with a chuckle. "Luckily he had you for a guardian angel."

"Well, it's a good thing you guys don't have an answering machine," I said, "or I would have just left a message days ago instead of calling last night."

"Oh, we do have a machine," Kristin assured me. "But it broke last week."

God's heavenly nudge
Their answering machine was broken. I let the fact sink in, then smiled, imagining God disconnecting the inner workings of the answering machine with a screwdriver. Humbled and grateful, I realized God had used me to help save Paul's life.

We have a loving, all-knowing God who puts us in the right place (or dialing the right phone number) at the right time. Sometimes he has to give us a heavenly nudge to accomplish his will.

I firmly believe the Lord fit all the pieces together for Paul's rescue:

• Kristin invited me to the party. The answering machine malfunctioned, so I couldn't just leave a message.

• I felt the urge to call at the very moment Paul began having symptoms.

• Paul mentioned the bee sting to me.

• He was clear-headed enough to spell the names of his neighbors so I could look up their phone numbers.

• The neighbor was home to receive the call.

If one step had been missing, Paul might have died before Kristin got home.

In As You Like It, Shakespeare wrote: "All the world's a stage/And all the men and women merely players." What Shakespeare omitted is that God, in his infinite wisdom, is the director of the play. The Bible says God protects us and cares for us—even counts the hairs on our heads. He knows what we need before we ask, even using a broken answering machine.

Making a Cab Driver's Day
Four years ago, I was sitting in my cab in front of a Philadelphia hotel thinking and praying. Whenever I had a moment alone, I'd talk with God—thanking him for what I had before mentioning what I needed.

This particular Sunday, business had been extremely slow. I was wondering where I was going to get $60 to pay for the daily rent of my cab. I could lose the cab—and my livelihood—if I didn't come up with the money immediately.

Just then, a young woman got into my cab. Her first words took me by surprise. "I know it will cost $25 for this ride, but I can only afford to pay you $15. I work for a charity and that's all they gave me for cab fare."

I thought about it for a minute. What difference did it make? I was probably going to lose my cab anyway. Why not help someone else have a good day? I agreed to do it.

At her destination, the woman paid her $15 fare, then reached into her purse. I couldn't believe my eyes—she laid a $100 bill next to me on the seat!

"The $15 fare was the charity's money," she explained. "This is my own money. God told me you needed it." With that, she was gone.

Through tears of joy, I thanked God for supplying my daily needs. —Bruce Watson

Copyright © 1998 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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