Lisa Called

I was just sitting here doing some work on my
laptop when my cell phone rang. It was a call from Lisa who told me not to hang
up. She said, “This is not a sales call.” Then she went on to explain that her reaching
out was a response to recent information she had received suggesting I was
having chronic pain. I hate to think of myself as a rude person, but I hung up.

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This is not the first call I’ve received from
Lisa. Furthermore, Lisa’s voice is a recording. I know this because she always
says the exact same thing. And while I know a few Lisa’s, I’m reasonably sure
this particular Lisa is none of the ones with whom I’m familiar (although I’m
beginning to become quite acquainted with her). Maybe the next time she calls,
I’ll invite her over for dinner. I’m sure my lovely Bride would love to meet
her.

I’m glad she is concerned about my chronic
pain, but I’m really curious as to who informed her that I was suffering in such
debilitating agony. While I’m always complaining that there just isn’t enough
compassion in this world, I don’t have the kind of persistent hurt that would warrant
a half a dozen calls from the same person. In fact, I don’t have anything more
than the usual aches and pains of your average senior citizen. I’m beginning to
think I should get a check-up from our family doctor to make sure I’m okay.

Misplaced Compassion?

As I write this, it’s beginning to occur to
me that maybe—just maybe—I should listen to Lisa’s message all the way to the
end. After all, if it really isn’t a sales call, maybe she can help me with my
phantom pain—for free. I’m a tad reticent to do so, however, because her
message could be half an hour long for all I know. I’m not interested in
investing thirty minutes in a recorded call—even one from a compassionate person.

So here I sit anticipating Lisa’s next call
and wondering how I should handle it. It’s problematic, however, because I don’t
need the stress. I just need to be left alone with my pain (if, indeed, it ever
shows up).

The whole thing reminds me of the words of Jesus during his famous Sermon on the Mount. During the discourse, He said, “Don’t worry about your life” (Matthew 6:25). As always, Jesus is correct on this. Why should I worry about the pain I don’t have? Why should I fret over Lisa’s next phone call? According to Jesus, I can’t add a “single hour” to my life by doing so (V. 27).

Unfortunately, many of us become deeply concerned about far more trivial matters than my dilemma with the faceless Lisa. Not only should we avoid the ulcers, but most of these things are caused by circumstances we cannot control. Maybe we should take a page out of Alfred E. Newman’s philosophy and say, “What? Me worry?”

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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