A phone call was our family’s origin. Actually, it was a series of phone calls. My husband Chip [before he was my husband] called me and asked me to go to Balboa Park with him. We were in college in San Diego. I said, “yes.” We agreed upon the day, time, etc. A few days later he called back, leaving a message at my dorm front desk saying he wanted to reschedule, due to circumstances a friend of his had experienced [drugs, getting kicked out of school, the usual type stuff at a Christian college]. I called back and said “no” I think we should go ahead as planned. He decided after a few calls back and forth that he would like to go through with the date, and BOOM!, two days later we were married. [not really. . . . we went on the date and a year and a half later we were married]. Before any of those calls took place, Chip called one of his professors. I answered the phone because I worked part time in that department. Rumor had it that Chip was interested in getting to know me, yet he hadn’t yet. I introduced myself over the phone. I think it frightened Chip a bit. . . .
I already knew, before going on that date to Balboa Park, that Chip’s life plan was ministry. There had been an article about him in our school newspaper. It was rather dramatic, but I, being young, found it riveting. [not that I wouldn’t find it riveting today] So, it was clear from the get-go. Get involved with this guy, your life will go a certain direction.
Many, many years [I don’t feel compelled to tell how many] later, I realize I made the right decision. My call was and is to be with Chip. And if Chip’s call is ministry, that’s my call too. It’s like a math problem:
Really, it all comes back to the call. Not a phone call, but the call God has placed on our lives.