My neighbour Hugh and I often had arguments about faith. Hugh didn’t believe in God – until he had a phone call from Him.

He was enjoying a good night’s sleep when the phone rang downstairs. He looked at his clock and swore. Ten past three! It could only be bad news at that time. In his panic Hugh didn’t get his slippers on properly and reaching the top of the stairs he took a tumble and fell all the way to the bottom.

He twisted his back, bruised his cheek and had the breath knocked out of him. Just to add insult to injury, as he pulled himself up and reached for the phone – it stopped ringing.

Hugh sat on the bottom step, checking his injuries and cursing whatever prankster had caused all this mayhem.

Then his nose twitched.

He followed the smell to the cupboard under the stairs. As he opened the door the acrid stench of melting insulation assaulted his nostrils. Quick as a flash Hugh cut the mains power and then, with a torch, checked that nothing was alight.

In the morning he called an electrician who inspected the damage and told Hugh he must have been seconds away from a major fire while he slept.

Hugh couldn’t find anyone who would admit to phoning him in the wee small hours and there was no number left behind. But he shudders to think what might have happened if the phone hadn’t rang.

Our arguments about faith aren’t quite so boisterous these days. Mostly Hugh is curious. He wants to know more about whoever was watching over him that night.

And if I could get God’s phone number so he could say thank you in person, I think Hugh would really appreciate that.

David McLaughlan copyright 2009 david.mclaughlan@btinternet.com http://www.wayfarerstales.com/