Quote from Forum Archives on September 21, 2003, 1:12 am

Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>

 

<><> Grandma <><>

 

I hate Mondays.  Today was no exception since it was a cloudy
day with rain in the forecast.  Mondays are wash days.  I enjoy
hanging my linens on the line in the sun.  To top it off, I was
beginning to feel the onslaught of an allergy attack, which
would certainly be worsened by the dryer running most of the
morning.

 

My self-pitying thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the
telephone back in the other side of the house.  "Here it is
7:30 a.m. and someone is calling," I said to myself as I tripped
over the dog first and then the cat on my way to answer the phone.

 

"Hello," I said in a somewhat hoarse but unfriendly voice.

 

"Grandma?" came the retort.

 

My heart swelled immediately, and I took in a quick sigh of
relief before I replied.  My grandson Noah is in the Marines
and has been stationed in Baghdad but had been given just hours
to pack up and get ready to return to the states.  A few hours
later, they cancelled those orders and ordered them back to
Baghdad for an unknown amount of time.  My son and his wife
were, as I was, worried about him and anxious to have him home.
With all this running through my head, I finally answered the
voice on the phone with eagerness, "Hey, Sweetheart, where are you?"

 

"I'm on the way to visit you," came the reply.

 

"Are you serious?" I asked in disbelief, "Where are you now?"

 

"I just left Fort Smith and am heading to Fort Sill with one of
my buddies who lives there.  We are traveling in his car."

 

"Fort Smith?  Fort Sill?" came my retort.  I was confused since
he would have been returning to Camp Pendleton, a Marine base,
not an Army base.  I said, "Why would you go there?"

 

There was a pause on the line and I feared I had lost the
connection but finally there was an unsure, "Is Margaret there?"

 

"No, there is no Margaret here.  Who is Margaret?" I replied as
my heart fell.

 

"Uh,er...uh, I know you won't believe me but I am in an
automobile traveling to visit my Grandmother and I have her
number on my speed dial.  I pushed it and got you.  I don't know
how it happened but believe me, I am sorry," the young voice
said at the other end of the line.

 

"Well, you may not believe me," I replied, "but I have a
grandson who sounds just like you on the phone and always starts
out by saying, Grandma when he calls me.  I wanted it to be him
more than you can know.

 

He has been in Kuwait City then Baghdad and then in Iran waiting
for orders to come home.  He got them last week and was ready to
leave and they sent his platoon back to Baghdad.  He is a Marine
from Camp Pendleton but lives in Fort Worth," I explained.

 

"This may be a wrong number," I continued, "but it gives me a
chance to say something to you I would like to say to all
soldiers who have been involved in this war and the frightening
weeks since.

 

We are all proud of you, one and all, and our hearts have been
praying for you daily and always thinking of your bravery and the
wonderful job you are all doing."

 

"You may not be my grandson but you are some lucky people's
grandson who probably think the same way I do.  I am glad you
called, even if it was a wrong number.  I felt closer to my
Noah through hearing your voice," I told him.

 

"Ma'am," came his reply, "I don't understand some of the things
that happen in this world.  I have never gotten a wrong number
on my speed dial before, particularly to another grandmother.

 

I am more religious since being in Iraq.  I have come to know
about faith first hand for the first time in my life.  One thing
that has stood out clear among the soldiers I am stationed with
is that it is faith that gets us home.  I kinda feel perhaps
there was a reason for this call going to you.  It gives me a
chance to tell you a few things.

 

I was also stationed in Baghdad, also waited for orders to
return home, also was sent back to Baghdad, and now, finally
I am heading home.  I am in the Army, however.  I am only 20 and
dreamed of being a soldier for a long time.  It is different
from how I imagined it, and I have had to grow up a lot.

 

Perhaps this call came to you as a message from your grandson
saying he will also return home safely in the near future."

 

"I really believe that," I told him.  "I heard his voice in you
and it gave me joy.  It will always be a special call to remember."

 

"By the way," he said, "while we are still connected, let me say
thanks to you and all the other grandparents, parents, siblings,
friends and strangers who sent the many cards, pictures,
supplies and well wishes and prayers to us all.  We were working
for one cause, together, no matter what branch of the military.
It was the folks at home who got us through and will get your
grandson through."

 

"Thank you, for what you have done, for your wonderful attitude
and for your call.  It has made me relieved, happy and touched,"
I told him.  "Now, call your grandmother and tell her she has a
wonderful grandson."

 

Again, he said thanks and the call ended.

 

My morning became special.

 

I sat in the chair for a while and tears flowed from my eyes and
my heart.  Tears of every emotion you can imagine.  I first felt
ashamed for being in a bad mood this morning.

 

Second, I felt as if I had actually heard from my beloved
grandson.  I felt an overwhelming pride for those young and not
so young soldiers and the hardships they endure for strangers.
The risks they take in the name of freedom.  I cried a few extra
tears for two 20-year-old babies/wise men who, through a wrong
connection on a cell phone blended into one for a few minutes
to give an aging grandmother a light heart and a warm feeling of
being touched by the spirit of all life.

 

As I found solace in the events of the morning, I realized I
didn't even think of asking for his name.  For a second I was
upset by this but then I realized, it was meant to be this way.
Now he will always be a voice saying, "Grandma?" and I will
always be that grandma saying, "Where are you?"

 

Life is sweeter on Mondays now.

<><> Noah's Angel <><>

 

Monica Stonebraker of Zionsville, Indiana was excited when she and her husband found a townhouse to rent.  Lots of potential---but it needed some cleaning before the couple could move in.  Monica got busy right away, and was scraping wallpaper off the second floor bedroom one day when her sister-in-law, Connie, stopped by to bring some lunch.  Connie also brought two of her children, Jimmy, age 3, and eighteen-month-old Noah.

 

After lunch, Connie decided to stay and help with the work.  "We closed doors to rooms with anything hazardous inside," Monica says.  "Since it was a nice day, the screened bedroom window was open, so Connie pulled a large portable stereo in front of it."

 

The boys played well together, dancing to music from the stereo and staying in the middle of the floor, away from the wet walls.  At one point Jimmy looked up.  "There's someone at the door," he said.  Both women peered out of the second floor window, which overlooked a little deck and courtyard.  Monica called down, but no one answered, and no one was in view.  She resumed her work.  A few minutes later, Jimmy repeated the message.  "Someone's outside."

 

The women looked at each other. Was a prowler sneaking around downstairs, trying to get in?  Connie went down to check.  She looked outside, then locked the doors just in case, and came back upstairs.  "There wasn't anyone there, Jimmy," she told her three-year-old.  But he was not satisfied.  Several more time he pointed towards the window to the deck below, and insisted that someone was there.

 

"Are you teasing us, Jimmy?" Monica asked, but she already knew he wasn't.  When Jimmy teased, he always laughed.  But now he seemed confused, even frustrated that no one would believe him. Monica went back to scraping, while Connie went into the bathroom.

 

Just as Connie re-entered the bedroom, Noah climbed up onto the stereo. "Noah, stop!" Connie cried, racing across the room to him.  But he had already reached the screen, and as he leaned on it, it gave way.  The toddler plunged through the open window to the deck below.

 

Screaming, Connie raced down the stairs while Monica shakily dialed 911.  Moments later, Connie ran back into the bedroom, and grabbed the phone. "I'll give them directions--you've had some first aid--you look at Noah!" she cried.  Monica wasn't going to argue.

 

"Noah was lying on the deck halfway on his stomach, and halfway on his left side," Monica recalls.  "He wasn't moving, but I could hear him crying softly."  Did he have a broken neck or back, a concussion, broken shoulder or internal injuries?  "I don't remember ever praying so hard for anything in my life," Monica says. "I asked Noah's guardian angel to be with him, and help him to be brave, and protect him through whatever lay ahead."  Jimmy came out, looking a little dazed, and sat beside Noah, folding h
is hands in prayer while Monica carefully began to assess Noah's injuries.  No visible blood, movement in all limbs.these were hopeful signs, she realized.  But of course, the impact had been hard, and who knew what the hospital tests would reveal?  She could hear the paramedic sirens, and she again asked God and His angels to be near.

 

The paramedics arrived, and carefully rolled Noah over to put a neck brace on him.  Odd, Monica thought.  The deck was covered in bits of shingle grains that roll off the roof---her hands had little pieces of them stuck all over since she'd leaned on the deck to help Noah.  But there wasn't anything on Noah's face, not a cut or scratch or bruise, not even the shingle bits.  As if he had been shielded. 

 

Connie jumped into the van and it sped away.  Monica looked down at Jimmy.  "Don't worry, Aunt Monica," Jimmy said with the utmost confidence.  "Noah's going to be fine."
"I hope so, honey," Monica murmured.
Jimmy simply patted her.  He had no doubt.

 

Just a few hours later. Noah came home, suffering from only a small scrape on his left arm.  The scans had shown no physical damage, nor did he have any emotional reaction to what had happened; he was his usual happy self.  The extended family, now gathered to give thanks, looked at each other.  How could this be? How had this vulnerable toddler escaped serious injury?
Jimmy had the answer.  "Someone caught Noah," he said quietly.  "Someone outside."

 

Tingles went up Monica's spine.  She thought of the day, of Jimmy's constant insistence that someone was outside, someone that none of them could see.  But now she understood.  Noah's angel had been there to break his fall---and Jimmy had seen him waiting.

 

"Jimmy is not the type to make up such a thing," Monica says today.  "Nor had any of us mentioned angels."  But she believes that God performs miracles for us all on a daily basis.  And she will never forget this one.

 

Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara

 

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