ANOTHER VIEW: You don’t need 911 to dial heaven_Wilkinson_111003

Posted: 11/07/03

ANOTHER VIEW:
You don't need 911 to dial heaven

By David Wilkinson

There ain't no busy signal

on the hotline to God.

—"Cotton Patch Gospel"

You know you're having a bad day when you dial 911 and get put on hold.

I was sitting semi-conscious on the couch a few minutes after midnight when the phone rang. It was my wife, Melanie, who was nearing the end of her two-day drive home from Minnesota after depositing our son, Micah, at St. Olaf College

“I need you to call 911 for me,” Melanie said as I answered the phone.

David Wilkinson

Before I could stammer a Stupid Husband Response like “You mean you don't know the number for 911?” she quickly explained: “I've just seen two guys breaking into a car. My cell phone is nearly dead, and I can't find the adapter.”

My wife has this thing about civic duty and Christian compassion. At least this Good Samaritan chose to call rather than apprehend the thieves directly.

“Call 911,” she repeated, resisting the urge to ask me to write down the number.

“Tell them I asked you to call because my cell phone battery was about to go dead and that I have just seen two men breaking into a car parked on the shoulder on the north side of Highway 121 just past exit 103.”

“Got it. Highway 121, just past exit 103,” I dutifully repeated without commentary. (After 25 years of marriage, I've learned a few things.)

I hung up and dialed 911.

“Please do not hang up,” intoned the recorded message. “Your call is important to us.”

“Glad I'm not having a heart attack,” I thought. After a minute or two, a live person came on the line.

“I am calling on behalf of my wife, who is traveling southwest on Highway 121 and has just witnessed two men breaking into a car parked on the shoulder on the north side of the road just past exit 103. She asked me to call because her cell phone was about to go dead.”

“Would you repeat that, please?”

I did.

“Exit 103. Did your wife give you a cross street?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, no cross street.”

“No, sir, she was careful to get the exit number, but she didn't give me a cross street.”

“OK, did she give you the names of some of the businesses at that exit?”

“No sir. I have told you everything my wife told me.”

“What about a description of the car?”

“It was a car. It was being broken into. She didn't say what kind of car; she just told me exactly where it was located–just past exit 103.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I need more information than an exit number.”

I started to suggest he look it up on AAA's web site.

“Is that in the Fort Worth city limits?”

I tried to remain calm. “I don't know. All I know is the exit number.”

“OK. Well, since you don't know if it's in the city limits (how stupid of me), please stay on the line while I transfer you.”

After a few rings, Mr. 911 lateralled to Mr. Highway Patrol. I recited the details, all of them, again. And, I kid you not, this is what came next:

“Can you give me a cross street?” followed by “Can you tell me any of the business establishments near that exit?”

That pushed me over the edge. “With all due respect, I've been on the phone so long those guys are now enjoying a beer while going over their stolen items inventory.”

“Well,” he said, irritated by my attitude, “I guess I could send a car up Highway 121 for a look.”

I had hardly settled down on the couch again when the doorbell rang.

“For goodness sake, Melanie,” I grumbled, “the door is unlocked. And you're going to wake up Meredith.”

I opened the door to find a firefighter in full gear standing on the front step.

Behind him on the sidewalk stood two others.

Parked on the street behind them was a fire truck, red lights flashing.

As I tried to take in the sight, a police car pulled up behind the fire truck. I imagined the neighbors peeking through their mini-blinds.

The firefighter spoke.

“You called 911?”

I'm glad we pray to a God who “neither slumbers nor sleeps” and always knows where to find us.

Even without a cross street.

David Wilkinson is minister of education and discipleship at Broadway Baptist Church in Fort Worth