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It is just over ten months since I got the text message: “Can I call you in a few minutes?”

Y’all, you only ask if you can call if the call is important — if you have Something to Say. Otherwise, you just call, and if you don’t reach the person, you leave a voicemail or send a text or try again later.

And when a guy sends a girl this text? A guy she hadn’t suspected was interested? Well, her stomach flip-flops, she feels hot and clammy, and she feels like the world has begun to rotate at double its usual speed as she texts back that he can call.

And then she spends minutes telling herself that he probably has something perfectly commonplace to say, after all; but she doesn’t really believe that. And when he calls, her disbelief is confirmed.

Long ago, in the pages of the Victorian books in which I came of age, young gentlemen went “calling” on young ladies as a form of courtship. Our modern day “calling” on the phone may also initiate a courtship.

And I had been wondering if singleness were my calling, if God were calling me to rejoice in His sufficiency even as He denied my dearest dreams. (And He does call to that, in other ways, and He will be my sufficiency, always.) But this phone call — was it the first intimation of a different calling entirely?

I accepted the invitation with fear and trembling, and watched, small and glad, as my corner of Wonderland began to transform.

©2015 by Stacy Nott

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