Leftovers for lunch…again. The phone rang. I failed to recognize the voice, partly due to a bad connection, mostly due to lack of familiarity. Ken informed me he was calling from Ohio. That wasn’t much help. I still had no idea. Traveling and speaking in as many locales and languages as do I, I’m fortunate to remember my own name, let alone someone met in passing somewhere in the past.
Ken shared he is a recovering alcoholic and that today marked twenty-nine days of sobriety. (No small feat!) Attending an AA meeting housed in a church where I had spoken years previously, he saw my posted newsletter on the bulletin board. He recognized me, having attended services when I was there before. Since he carried a warm spot in his heart for me and my ministry, he took down my number and for reasons his own, decided to give me a call.
We shared at first, awkward conversation. No rookie; I was personally and professionally guarded. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for some sort of scam. None came. Our dialog warmed as we went along. We ended our chat with me offering prayer. As Ken prepared to hang up, I heard his voice utter surprising words, “Thanks Stan, I love ya.”
Still I must admit: I don’t know who this is!
It doesn’t matter. He matters! A recovering alcoholic matters, first to God, and he matters to me. And apparently, I matter to him.
Sometimes you matter and don’t know it.