I work on the campus of a retreat center, so there are always random people floating around. I usually smile and say hello, but I keep my distance so they can have their solitude. I was crossing the breezeway between my office and the studio when a lady asked me for help. “Can you help me get my battery out of my cell phone?”

She explained it was wet, and she wanted to dry it out. So I pushed and pulled on the battery, and it just would not come out. I tried hard, because this lady was hear on a retreat, and I didn’t want her to spend her day worrying about her cell phone.

Each time I crossed the breezeway, I fought another battle with the phone. Still, not luck. I propped my foot on the picnic table bench and tapped the phone on my leg, hoping to shake some water out. My khaki pants got darker with water with every tap. The silence was awkward, so I asked her, “How did you drop it in water? You don’t find many puddles here in the desert.” She paused, and hesitantly said, “I dropped it in the sink.” I tapped all the water out, then handed her the phone. I stepped into the studio to grab a book.

On my walk back to my office, she said: “Thank you for all your help this morning, but I have to be honest with you. It’s embarrassing to tell you this but I need to be honest. I didn’t drop it in the sink. I dropped it in the toilet.”