All I Did Was Call—and You Came

All I Did Was Call—and You Came

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

All I did was call and just like that, You showed up.

That’s the thing about distraction it doesn’t knock down your door like some wild storm. No, it’s smoother than that. Real slick. It waits on your porch, all dressed up in something familiar, humming a tune you used to like. It doesn’t barge in it just stands there, patient. Waiting on an invitation.

And me? I’ve been known to hand it one too many keys.

See, the trick about distractions is that they rarely come looking like trouble. Nah. They show up looking like comfort. They sound like a good time. They feel like a break you’ve earned. You don’t realize you’re sinking until the water’s up to your chin.

When I turned 21, my grandmother Celestine sat me down with that “I’ve been here before” look in her eyes. She said, “Baby, don’t let pretty lies take up space in your soul. The devil don’t always come with horns sometimes he smells good and brings your favorite snack.”

Man, she wasn’t lying.

She had all kinds of sayings one I’ll never forget: “Everything that sparkles ain’t meant to stay.” And you know what? She was right.

Distractions are like stray cats. Feed 'em once, and now they’re circling your doorstep, rubbing up against your legs like they belong there. But you keep feeding them? They multiply. Before you know it, they’ve taken over your peace. You used to dance in the sunlight, now you’re tiptoeing through the shadows.

And I get it. The music of distraction? It’s smooth. Real smooth. You can ride with it. You can party to it. It’s got that bounce, that groove that makes you forget what day it is. But while you’re swaying to the beat, it’s taking bites outta your light. Slow and quiet. Like termites in the walls.

You go from shining bright to barely glowing.

The wild part is, it never forced its way in. It just waited for you to say, “Come on in.”

And the enemy? The one behind it all? One day, he’s gonna look folks dead in the face and say, “Hey I just made a suggestion. You’re the one who said yes.” And he won’t be lying.

It wasn’t a hijack it was a handshake.

Let me tell you a little parable my grandmother told me when I was down bad and blaming the world for the mess I was in. She leaned in and said:

"There was once a young man who owned a small cottage in a quiet valley. It was simple, nothing fancy, but it was full of warmth and peace. One day, a traveling salesman knocked on his door, promising riches, popularity, and endless entertainment if only the young man would let him in for dinner. The young man, curious and a bit bored, agreed."

"Dinner turned into an overnight stay. The next day, the man invited in another guest, then another. The cottage that once held peace became loud, crowded, and chaotic. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even find his own shoes."

"One evening, desperate and exhausted, he stepped outside and called for help. Just a whisper. Just a cry. And from the hills came an old friend a quiet man with kind eyes who had visited once long ago. The young man said, ‘Why didn’t you come sooner?’ The friend replied, ‘I was waiting for you to invite me. I don’t force my way in. But now that you’ve called, let’s clear this place out.’”

Grandma smiled and said, “That friend? That’s the Creator. He won’t push His way into your chaos. But the moment you call? Baby, He’ll help you clean house.”

And just like that parable, I knew I had to stop throwing open the doors to every sweet-sounding lie that came knocking.

So now, I’m talking to myself heavy I had to roll up that old welcome mat in front of my heart. Too many times I’ve opened the door to people, habits, and mindsets that didn’t belong. Let ‘em hang out in my head, put their feet up in my peace, snack on my self-worth.

But now? Nah.

I had to learn to say, “Access denied.” Not outta pride, but outta preservation. Some folks walk into your life like sunshine but others sneak in like mold, growing in places you ain’t cleaned out yet.

And that music? That rhythm of chaos? I had to stop dancing to it. It felt good for a while but it was costing me my light. I started to forget what joy felt like. Real joy. Not the hyped-up kind that fades when the music stops but the quiet, soul-deep kind that stays even when life’s loud.

And in all that noise, I’d almost forgotten The Creator’s voice. See, He don’t shout. He don’t push His way in. He waits too. But the moment I whispered, “I need You,” He came rushing in no hesitation, no judgment. Just grace.

Every time I’ve been face-down in my own mess, His answer’s been the same: “I never left. I was just waiting on your call.”

Let me tell you something: you don’t have to scream to get heaven’s attention. You don’t have to beg. Just whisper. Just call.

My grandmother caught me once, crying over something I never should’ve let in. She looked at me and said, “Next time you wanna let somebody in, ask yourself Would I trust ‘em with my toothbrush? If not, don’t let ‘em sit in your spirit.”

Whew. That one sat with me. Still does.

So now I’m checking doors. I’m watching who I let in. I’m changing the locks. I’m guarding my peace like it’s priceless because it is. And I’m learning to vibe to a new rhythm. One that sounds like peace. Feels like alignment. Smells like freedom.

Distractions might still knock, sure. But I don’t answer like I used to. Because now I know I belong to the Light. I’m built for the day, not the night. I’m made to shine.

And whenever I forget that whenever the noise gets too loud and I start slipping

I remember this one simple truth:

All I gotta do is call.

And He’ll come.

Every single time.