My phone rang during our prayer gathering.
I rush to turn it off, embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered to do it before.
It’s my youngest daughter calling from Missouri.
“At prayer. Are you okay?” I text.
When she sends a reply that all is well,
I notice that the time on my phone is wrong…
seven hours ahead of Pacific time.
I hear my husband begin to lead the gathering to pray for Ghana,
calling out specific needs, specific names, that we came into contact with on our recent trip there.
That’s when I realize my phone is showing me Ghana time.
I look at the settings, see if I’ve accidently changed something.
It’s still set to show me the time in the time zone I’m in,
Until just a few moments ago it did.
It’s 7:45 pm, but it’s showing 2:45 am.
I join the group in prayer for Ghana, fervent, thinking God is trying to tell me something via Iphone, while at the same time realizing it sounds ridiculous.
I wonder if there’s something happening in Ghana in the middle of the night that we need to pray about.
My first thoughts, of course, are of my daughter, son-in-law, grandbabies.
Are they safe?
Periodically, I keep glancing at my phone.
The time still reads Ghana time.
Through the rest of our prayer time, and while chatting with people before heading home, it remains the same.
I have the most techy people in the group look at the phone,
they can’t figure out what the phone is doing when it’s set to tell the time of the the time zone I’m in.
I get in the car to leave, and a couple of blocks away from the church the phone returns to Pacific time.
In the morning my daughter calls from Ghana.
She can think of no special call for alarm during the night.
Me, I think that God knows.
I think He used my Iphone to remind me that in Him, in prayer, there’s no distance, no time zone difference.
He’s in Pacific time, and Ghana time, in the past, the present, the future, all at the same time.