Oh, no, I thought, massaging the back of my neck. The tingling sensation I felt was the all-too-familiar sign of an impending migraine, my nemesis for two decades. It robbed me of several days each month, causing pain and nausea severe enough I often had to head to bed. But there’d be no going to bed right now. I was all alone on a Sunday afternoon at the offices of a local council on alcoholism where I worked as a public relations coordinator. Today I was also cleaning the offices, something I did once a month to augment my meager income as a single parent.
I grabbed my purse and looked inside. Great, I thought, shaking my head. I’d forgotten to pack any food. Eating something was one of the best ways to help fend off the pain. I checked my supply of cash: a nickel, a dime and a penny. Not even enough for a candy bar from the vending machine. And it would be at least an hour before my boyfriend would pick me up to bring me home. I’m stuck, I thought, the pain beginning to throb in my right temple. I fought back tears. How on earth am I going to find the strength to clean now?
I lay down on one of the couches, trying to stem the nausea in my empty stomach.
Just then a telephone on one of the desks rang. That’s impossible, I thought. On the weekends, I knew, all phone calls were routed to an answering service. The phones shouldn’t ring at all. But one phone was indeed ringing persistently.
I dragged myself off the couch and over to the phone. Should I pick it up? If it’s ringing, it must be important, I thought. I finally answered it. “Hello?” I said.
“Mary Ann, is that you?” a cheerful voice said.
“Yes,” I said, unable to place the caller.
“It’s Michael. I was at the counseling class last Saturday. We met. Remember?”
A nice young guy who was a groundskeeper at a convent. “Oh, yes, of course.”
“Maybe you could help me with something…” he began.
“I’m sorry, but the council is closed today,” I said quickly.
“Well,” he continued, “my grandmother baked me a peach pie that I brought to class, but I left it in the refrigerator. I don’t want it to go to waste. Do you think you could find someone to eat it?”
My eyes widened. “I think so, Michael,” I said. I thanked him warmly and hung up.
I headed straight for the kitchen and cut myself a slice. As my migraine faded, I wondered how it was possible for a pie to taste so good… and how a phone that shouldn’t ring somehow did.
Download your FREE ebook, Mysterious Ways: 9 Inspiring Stories that Show Evidence of God's Love and God's Grace
