Unanswered Call
by Mary Ann Samedi
I called, once—then twice, unsure,
Hoping your voice would be the cure.
A friend, a guide, a steady sound,
But silence met me, all around.
The ring just faded into air,
A tone that said, “I’m not quite there.”
Perhaps you’re swamped, or deep in thought,
Too tangled up to give what’s sought.
And though I wished you’d just pick up,
To lift the weight, refill my cup,
I sat alone, unsure, unseen,
Held hostage by the in-between.
But then—a stillness, strangely sweet,
Crept gently in to calm defeat.
No buzzing phone, no welcome tone,
Just God reminding: “You’re not alone.”
A verse recalled, a whisper clear,
A peace that rose and dried the fear.
He heard the ache behind my cry,
The questions floating in my sigh.
He used the pause to speak instead,
To hush the noise inside my head.
No guilt for you—no blame to cast,
Some lessons grow when answers pass.
So now I know what’s always true:
God’s love breaks in when people can’t come through.
And if your silence fills the space,
He’ll fill it too—with strength and grace.