Tim Wildmon

AFA president

July 2001 – From April through July our family is not home, at least in the evenings. You see, I have two sons who play baseball ­ Wesley, 11, and Walker, 7.

Baseball is their sport of choice. And mine. The only time I ever miss their games is when I am out of town on business. Otherwise, I am there. (By the way, did I tell you that Wesley hit one over the fence the other night? Like in a towering, majestic shot that came beautifully off the barrel head of his bat on a down-and-in fastball and was lost in the cool night sky before landing near the parked cars 20 yards beyond the outfield fence in a scene much like one might find on the 10 o'clock sports report involving Mark McGwire: "Oh mercy, Bob! Did he get a hold of that one!" "He sure did, Joe. That kid has some kind of gene pool I tell you.")

But when we do get home in the evenings, Alison or I go to our phone and check the caller i.d. to see who has called. We did not ask for this amenity, nor pay extra for it. It just came with our phone service. And I don't have an answering machine and never will. The last thing I want to do at night is be responsible for returning five phone calls.

And let's be honest, nine times out of 10 when someone calls us they want us to do something for them. Am I right? Sure I am. Do your own survey and see if what I am saying cannot be backed up with scientific research. But back to the fact that we can tell who called and when. Our friends call. Our family calls. Our coaches call. The "unknown" calls. These are usually the telemarketers. Bless their hearts. I try to be nice to them, understanding they are just doing their job. I do.

However, Alison, my lovely wife of 17 years, has grown weary of them since she answers the phone much more often than I. She detects them immediately.

She says there is usually a pause after she picks up and then someone will ask for "Mr. or Mrs. Will-de-mon." Alison has little patience for someone who calls wanting to sell us something when he can't even pronounce our last name correctly.

Recently we were on vacation ­that's right, vacationing at a villa on the beach ­and received five calls from a time-share company in a span of three days. Finally, when one of them had the audacity to call and wake us up one morning at eight, Alison had had enough and asked, "Excuse me, what is your name again?"

"Richard."

"Well, Richard, guess what? We are on vacation, your company has called us every day this week, sometimes twice a day, and it's 8 a.m. You know what you call that Richard?"

"No ma'am."

"You call it rude. Rude with a capital R. How is it you keep calling us when we've told you five times in three days we are not interested? Do you need to fix your computer or what?"

"Well, I don't know..."

"Tell you what, Richard, if you would, and I have a pen and paper in hand, would you mind giving me your home phone number, what time you are going to be sitting down for supper tonight, and I'll give you a call three days in a row. How about that? I've got some property down by the local landfill I would like for you to take a look at for a possible timeshare. What about it, Richard?"

(Actually, I embellished that part about the landfill. For the humor-impaired who are reading this column, and I know you are out there, please understand ­that part was meant as a joke.)

When she got off the phone I rolled over, head still on the pillow, and asked softly, "Was that Richard wanting us to share some more time with him?"

"Yes."

"Guy sure is needy, isn't he?"

Well, Richard didn't know what to say, and his company didn't call back during our vacation. Left speechless by a sweet southern belle, he was. My guess is he did some soul searching.

Speaking of soul searching I sometimes wonder what I would say if I picked up the phone and it was God calling. What would I say if I received a phone call from the Lord and we could converse in an audible voice? Would I be bursting with excitement to talk with Him? Today, yes, I would. Or, would I be too ashamed of myself to talk with Him? Yesterday, yes, I would have been.

As a kid I remember hearing an old gospel song titled "Jesus on the Mainline." Remember that one? I often wish whoever wrote that catchy tune had changed the words from, "Jesus on the mainline, tell Him what you want," to "Jesus on the mainline, tell Him what you need." I like that word better. And I don't mean "need" as in material things, although I think it is appropriate to pray for our physical and material needs. What I mean by need is what the scripture says I need. I need more holiness. I need more love. I need more compassion. I need more conviction. I need more of Jesus and less of me deep down in my soul. Maybe that is what I would say to God if He called.