Several months ago, on a late Monday afternoon, I received a phone call, the meaning of which is very difficult to describe. I shared the story of this phone call with our leadership and field management teams the following day, and I want to share it with you all this week.

I know the call took place on a Monday afternoon because it followed what had been a very stressful and tense day. We had completed our monthly recovery partners’ meeting in Gulfport, which was then followed by our MCMC financial staff meeting. At that time in the project, our team was wrestling with several issues that had required lots of late night phone calls, planning sessions, contract revisions, official correspondence with stakeholders, and a host of other labor and mentally intensive tasks. Those days are not unlike those that we experience even now, but at that point the intensity of our work felt even more encumbering. By the end of the day, voices had been raised, tempers had flared, feelings had been stepped on, and I was feeling frustrated. I made it back to the hotel room and was getting ready to meet some of our team members for dinner when the phone rang.  I recognized the number, but I had not saved the name in my contacts, so I did not immediately recognize who was calling. The conversation went something like this: 

Me: “Hello?” 
Caller:  “Steve? Hey boy! How are you doing?”
Me:  “Oh! Hey Grandpa! I’m alright, what’s up?”
Caller:  “Not much. I just wanted to tell you that I have been praying for you; thinking about you and the work you’re doing. We love you boy!”
Me:   “Thanks Grandpa! We are doing fine, been a long day, but we’re handling it….”
Caller:  “I know you are, boy; I know you are. Well, tell Teri and those stinking girls I love them too, and we’ll talk to you later. Okay? Bye.”

The phone hung up, and that was the end of the call.

The caller was Grandpa Mosier, the Reverend Daniel Franklin Mosier. He was my wife’s grandfather, and he was a very dear man.  A pastor for over 60 years, he passed away late last week at the age of 92, a day after he had been outside raking some leaves with his son. His funeral service was Monday, and I cried more there than at any time I can ever remember. Sadness and an extraordinary joy at having been able to know him were the root cause for the tears that many of us shed throughout the day yesterday, and probably for many more days to come. On that day a few months ago, Grandpa had no way of knowing that I had just had a really bad day. He barely understood “what I did” in my job, but he did know that my work involved trying to help people in some way. He could not have known how meaningful his call was going to be, nor did I ever really tell him just how meaningful that “out of the blue” phone call had been. What is remarkable to me is that this was not the first such call I had received from grandpa on days that were similar in their makeup. Coincidence? No way! I did not speak with him on a regular basis, as my wife did most of the direct telephone conversations with him, but I did accompany her periodically as she would take him out to breakfast. His calling me, directly, on my cell phone, seemingly out of the blue, is the point of this message. 

The next day, after our staff had spent the entire day working through many of the issues that had bound us up the day before, I shared the story of Grandpa’s phone call. My message to the staff that day was that no matter how much we work, or how hard our tasks may seem – or even how frustrated we might get from time to time with each other – we are being supported by countless numbers of people just like Grandpa who pray for us and want our mission to succeed. That fact should give us a certain level of comfort, I said. Upon hearing the story, Marsha made the comment that she was more impressed that Grandpa Mosier had “listened, and acted” upon his impulse to pick up the phone and make the call. How many of us really listen? Even if we hear, or feel, or sense that we should do “something,” how many of us actually respond? Whatever your faith orientation might be, I urge you to listen to your spirit, your instincts, your intuition, whatever you might call that feeling you get when you know that you are being called to action, and act. Grandpa Mosier listened that Monday afternoon; he picked up the phone and he called me to say nothing more than he was praying for me, and that he loved me. He didn’t HAVE to say anything more than that. I immediately felt a sense of calm, comfort, and support, and I knew that even though there was much to be done and issues to be worked through, everything was going to be alright. Our staff met the following day, worked through things as all families do, and pressed forward with plans and action steps that have gotten us at least this far in the game.

As you go about the rest of this week and into the weeks ahead, rest in knowing that no matter how difficult or mundane your tasks might be, you are being supported by many who support your overall mission of facilitating the recovery of others in a humane, compassionate, and faith-filled manner. If you ever feel alone, unsupported, or frustrated in your work with your peers and you clients, seek out others with whom you can talk and on whom you can lean. And most importantly, if you feel that you are being led to reach out to someone, just do it. You may not need to say anything more than “I have been thinking about you, praying for you, and wanted you to know that I love you.” That just may make someone’s day, week, or even something grander than days on a calendar. Their spirits may soar and their energy might be renewed just by your simple action of reaching out to them.

Have a Blessed rest of the week, and thanks for all that you have done and continue to do on behalf of others.

Peace,

Stephen P. Carr II, MA,  MFT
Program Director
Mississippi Case Management Consortium
www.mc-mc.org