I have two more coincidence stories to tell. Honestly, my response to the car keys incident was plain-old, head-scratching bewilderment. Nothing more.
But this next encounter made me wonder. (Yes, I’ve changed some of the names).
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One cool summer evening the phone on our bedside table rang late at night. Jenell and I both jerked straight up in bed, immediately gripped with anxiety: Was someone hurt? Had there been an accident?
I snatched the phone from its cradle, “Hello!”
“Hi, yes, uh this is Robert Smith an I need to talk to someone about my bill.”
It was man’s voice. Older. Unrecognizable to me but recognizably intoxicated. Lascivious music loitered in the background and voices crowded the middle distance.
“Excuse me?” I said, “your bill?”
He jumped on my question: “Yes! My bill. I need to talk to someone about my bill!”
“What bill?”
“What bill?” He mocked with disgust. “What do you think. My phone bill.” He lamented to someone over his shoulder, “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with this person?”
“I don’t know who you are and I have nothing to do with your phone bill.” I flirted with hanging up, but somehow I felt he needed to understand he’d called the wrong number. Mostly, I just didn’t want him to call back. “I’m afraid you’ve called the wrong -”
“I already told you, this is Robert Smith. Just look up my account. You guys fucked up my bill and I need to straighten it out. Right now!”
My wife could hear the yelling from the phone. She looked at me, questioning. I rolled my eyes helplessly and shook my head, letting her know it was nothing serious.
He was peppering his tirade with more profanity now. He was completely wasted, and emboldened by the alcohol to swing for the fences. Soon he would unleash all his phone-company-frustrations upon the uncooperative employee at the other end of the line. Me. I halfway sympathized, but also realized that it would continue to escalate. So I switched tactics.
“Alright Mr. Smith, my apologies, I’m going to take care of that bill for you.”
“It’s about fuckin’ time! Jesus…” he muttered.
“Can I have your phone number please? Starting with the area code?”
“Yeah, it’s 909-555-5151.”
909? I thought to myself. That’s from Riverside, California. What are the chances someone from my hometown would call a wrong number and get me in Utah? Weird.
“And where are you calling from?”
“Where am I calling from? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“I just need it for my records, sir.”
“Uh…okay. I’m calling from a payphone at a bar in Victorville.”
Victorville? I had lots of family in Victorville. This was getting suspicious.
“Okay,” I said, “give me a second to pull up your account on the computer.”
“Great.” He was calm now. Satisfied and vindicated. He started talking again to the man over his shoulder about a woman across the bar, and the things he’d like to do to her. They giggled wickedly. That’s when I realized he was with a friend. Maybe someone less drunk than himself?
“Okay Mr Smith, I have your account in front of me and I can definitely clear these erroneous charges, but I need one more thing from you first.
“Great, what’s that?”
“Are you there with someone?”
“Excuse me?”
“At the bar. Are you with a friend?”
“What the f-…what does that have to do with my phone bill?” He was ramping up again.”Yeah I’m here with a friend. I’m here with my buddy Terry. He just got out of jail tonight and we’re freaking celebrating! Is that alright with you? Goddamn…” he said away from the phone again, “You believe this guy?”
“Could you put him on the phone please?”
“What? Excuse me?”
“Sir, can I please talk to your friend Terry?” I was still being polite.
“I don’t know why the hell you need to talk to -”
“Mr Smith,” I became stern, “do you want me to take care of your phone bill or not?”
He demurred, “Well, yes.”
“All right then. If you let me talk to your friend Terry I can erase this bill for you. If you don’t, you’re going to be stuck with these charges.”
“All right,” he gave in, “Jeeez, fine.” Away from the phone I heard, “He wants to talk to you…” followed by muffled protests. Then, “I don’t know, he just does. I need this taken care of, I can’t afford this bill. Just talk to him!”
The phone shuffled for a second. Then another older man’s voice tentatively said, “Hello?”
I recognized this voice.
“Terry?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Terry Jones?” I pressed. I already knew the answer.
“Uhhh, yes. Who’s this?”
“Terry, this is Jason Coker. Your nephew.”
“What the…Jason? What are you doing on Robert’s phone?”
“He called me Terry.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know Terry,” I said, using his name as a punctuation mark. Do you know why your friend would call me here in Utah? From a bar in Victorville? After midnight?”
“Oh shit…” He trailed off.
Jenell was sitting up fully now, staring at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Terry,” I called into the phone, trying to bring him back to the moment. “Did you give Robert my phone number?”
“No. No, no. Swear-to-God Jason, I didn’t give him your number. I don’t even have your number.” Off-phone Terry hissed at his friend, “Robert! You called my nephew. Jason. In Utah. He’s a PASTOR!” He let that last word sink in, as if he’d just unveiled the most dangerous secret in the universe.
“Then how did he get my number Terry?”
“Oh my God Jason,” he was back. “I know what this is.”
“Oh? What is it Terry?”
“This is GOD. Trying to tell me something.”
“Terry…”
“No, I’m serious Jason. Oh my God. I shouldn’t even be here Jason. I just got out of jail!”
“Terry, I don’t know if…”
“I get it Jason. Loud and clear. I get the message. I’m so sorry man, but I get the message.”
“Well, alright,” I said. “You take care of yourself.”
“I will. Seriously. I promise.”
“And tell your friend that I can’t help him with his phone bill.” With that, I hung up.
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So, God or coincidence? Is there a more likely explanation? Do you think Terry and Robert were telling the truth?
Technorati Tags: Coincidence, Free Will, sovereignty, Stories
Jason is currently a student at Fuller Theological Seminary and has a certificate in Urban Ministry from Hesston College. Before joining our team, Jason was a church planter and church planting consultant. These efforts have been documented in several books. He and his wife, Brooke, have three children, Paige, Matt and Sam. They live in the South Park neighborhood.
