First
the computer indicated that the device drivers for the phone were not properly
loaded. As a result it couldn’t read
that it even existed. I played with that
for a while. Even went online and tried
to see how to fix it. I did find out
that the iTunes program recognized the phone, though, so I went ahead with the
other issue … updating her phone operating system. Mistake number two. Oh, it began the update all right. Made a backup and everything. But when it got to the point of restoring the
backup to her phone … nothing. She had a
really pretty picture of a USB cable following an arrow in the direction of the
iTunes logo. But it would go no
farther. Now I faced two dilemmas, and
both already had me confounded. Back to
the internet, and, as often happens, before I looked up again it was 11:30. So much for getting on the road early.
That
was enough for me, though. We went over
to the AT&T store to see what they could do to help. Answer?
“Go home and call Apple support.
We can’t do anything here without a PC.”
I told him I had one in the car.
How’s that for thinking ahead? He
backtracked quickly, though. He didn’t think
he could do anything even with a computer.
On a whim we looked at a few of the newer phones (ours is a series 4),
but rather than go out on that limb we went back to the house to give customer
service a try.
Four
and a half hours later the tech announced, “Gee. The phone must be broken. Here are your options for repair or
replacement.” Wow. An announcement of complete and total
destruction. Death of an iPhone. And after at least six hours of trying
desperately to save it. We were
devastated. How in the world could we
handle this absolute catastrophe? Could
we actually afford to buy a new phone?
How would it affect our plan?
Could Chris really go without a phone?
Oh, the misery of it all. Alas. Alack.
Woe.
And
into the midst of our family vacation pity party came a loud, harsh explosion
of sound. What would dare intrude into
our personal time of grief? The
telephone, of course. Our only remaining
working cell phone. Sigh. I resignedly answered the call, and I’m sure
my “hello” was not the usual cheery greeting one might expect. But the voice on the other end was
undeterred, almost as if she expected me to be in the doldrums. Who was this woman? I sat up in my chair as she introduced
herself, and almost fell off the chair when she identified herself as … “a
hospice grief counselor just calling to see how you were doing in dealing with
your grief.” I bit my bottom lip and
answered as respectfully as I could that we were doing fine. We were surrounded by family and friends and
our church, so we had lots of support. Chris
looked at me quizzically, and I whispered to her who it was. It was no help to me at all when she covered
the grin and muffled the chuckle rapidly escaping from her mouth. I ended the call with my thanks and when we
were certain the phone was positively off … both of us exploded in
laughter. What perfect timing. She had no idea how much we needed that phone
call at just that moment. Now we could
indeed continue with our iPhone grieving process, but do it with an ironic
grin.
James
5:13 says, “Is any one of you in trouble?
He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise.”
Father,
thank you for the “happy” in the midst of “consternation.” Never knew it could be spelled that way. Amen.
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