Who’s Taking Your Calls?

Who’s Taking Your Calls?

By Kateb Shunnar

A porch has a way of teaching. The boards creak under the weight of stories, the air thick with the smell of magnolia and gumbo, and the cicadas humming their eternal choir. Out here, wisdom slips out easy, half serious, half playful, but always carrying something you can take with you when you step off the steps. And tonight, the talk drifts toward prayer. Folks like to think every time they pray, Heaven’s the one answering back, like there’s only one operator on the line. But baby, prayer is more like making a phone call. The dialing happens with your heart, with your worries, with that deep sigh you let out when the world done chewed you up and spit you out. You place the call, sure enough, but the line don’t always connect where you think it does. The question is simple: who’s answering on the other end? Not every “hello” is holy. Some voices mimic grace so well you’ll mistake trouble for a blessing.

Picture the prayer everybody knows: “Lord, I need more money. I’m drowning living paycheck to paycheck.” That prayer gets prayed so often the heavens must recognize it like a familiar ringtone. And sure enough, sometimes a shiny new job pops up, promising fat checks and a fatter smile. Looks good, smells good, feels good until two weeks later when the hours got you worn out like a rag mop, the laughter gone out your chest, and the only thing you got left is a swollen bank account and a shriveled-up soul. That ain’t Heaven picking up. That’s ego answering, puffing its chest out and saying, “Look what you pulled off.” Ego’ll hand you a gold chain one day and drag you down with it the next.

Desire’s another one quick to pick up. It don’t even let the phone ring twice. Desire loves a good show. Pray for money, and next thing you know some slick scheme rolls in, talking sweet, flashing promises of quick wealth. No sweat, no grind, just sign here. It feels like a shortcut straight to the promised land. But shortcuts don’t never end where they claim. Desire will hand you candy while your teeth fall right out your head. You’ll be grinning one day and broke the next, pockets emptier than a pot after a crawfish boil.

And then there’s negative energy Lord, that one answers calls like it’s on salary. That’s the one that whispers, “Try your hand at gambling, chase them numbers, hang with folks who got less faith than a drunk mosquito.” The answer comes wrapped in opportunity, but it’s all static when you lean in close. Negative energy don’t care how far down you fall, long as you ain’t standing upright. It’ll keep you running in circles, shouting that blessings are near, while dragging you straight into a ditch.

Now, when the Creator takes the call well, that’s something different. It don’t sound rushed, it don’t sound pushy, and it don’t pull you apart. You pray for money, and instead of rushing into the first door that swings open, patience sets in. You stay put. You breathe. And right when you think Heaven’s been ignoring you, the same old job you nearly quit suddenly gives you a raise. Not a handful of coins, but six whole dollars an hour more. Same hours. Same weekends off. Same family dinners. Same peace in your bones. That’s not luck. That’s not ego or desire in disguise. That’s the Creator’s steady voice saying, “Child, I heard you the first time. No need to sell your soul for a payday. I’ll make room for you right where you stand.” And that kind of answer don’t just fatten your wallet it fills the hollowness inside, the place where laughter and spirit live.

The porch carries tales to keep lessons alive. One old story tells of a woman named Letha who lived by the river. Every night, she prayed for riches, calling so loud her words rolled off into the water. And the river, sly and watchful, answered back, “I’ll give you what you want.” Next morning, gold coins sparkled along the shore. Oh, she thought she’d been blessed beyond measure. Bought dresses stitched finer than Sunday sermons, filled her table with food, threw parties big enough to make the whole town envy. But the gold weighed heavy, heavier than joy itself. Her smile faded, her laughter disappeared. One night the river whispered again, “You called me, not the One who made me. My gift ain’t got grace stitched in it.” And the coins in her hand turned to stones, rough and useless. Folks still tell it, warning each other: holler too loud for blessings, and you might get the river’s reply instead of the Creator’s. Nobody wants to walk bent low, carrying stones that used to shine like gold.

That’s the danger of treating prayer like it’s Amazon Prime. Folks think they can order patience, peace, or prosperity and track the package on an app. “Expected delivery: Friday.” But Heaven don’t send no tracking number. Sometimes the answer is not yet, sometimes it’s no, and sometimes the silence is the answer, stretching your roots deeper while you’re waiting. And don’t people act like children when the package don’t land on their porch the way they pictured? “Why He ain’t answering?” they fuss. But the truth is, the answer came they just didn’t like what it sounded like.

That’s the lesson this porch keeps pressing into the night air: be mindful who you let answer your call. Sometimes it’s ego, puffing itself up bigger than it deserves. Sometimes it’s desire, slick and sweet with a grin that don’t last. Sometimes it’s negative energy, humming lies smoother than jazz on Frenchmen Street. And sometimes when the heart is still enough—it’s the Creator, speaking quiet but steady, giving what don’t just patch up a hole in your pocket but restores the soul underneath it all. The difference shows itself plain: His answer don’t cost you your laughter, your peace, or your essence.

And if wisdom has a sound, it’s this: don’t get tricked by the wrong “hello.” Some blessings turn into burdens. Some gold turns into stones. And some voices will have you thinking you’re saved, when really you’re just tangled deeper in the mess you begged to escape. Prayer is always heard. But the line’s got more than one operator. And the real blessing is learning which voice is the Creator, and which is just noise trying to pass itself off as holy.

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