The Voice I Miss

-Prologue to my upcoming novel, “The Voice of Midnight”-

“We have time for one more caller”, said the radio talk show host, on the air every Saturday night from midnight to 1:00am, called, The Voice of Midnight.

To the shock of everyone at the station, a young girl’s voice comes on the air, “Hi Mr Voice, since you always end your show with a poem and dedicate it to the evening’s callers, I decided to write you one.”

“Well now, that is awfully sweet of you, but what are you doing up this late, and listening to ME? How old are you?”

“I’m 14, and my grandmother listens to you every week. Once when I couldn’t sleep, she let me sit with her while you were on, and we’ve listened together ever since. I showed her my poem, and she let me call you.”

“Well you called just in time. Tell your grandma thank you. You’re our last caller. The mic is all yours!”…

The sound of crinkling paper was heard and she began:

“The poem is called “The Voice I Miss”, because I miss hearing your show for the whole week. So here it goes… Faintly, as in the wind, I can hear him come and go throughout my day, but it’s in the midnight hour that I hear his whispers clearest, as I lay. And when his poems are gone, the tears in my sleep are still hoping they would stay. Somewhere in my dreams tonight, I know he still exists, though I no longer see his face…he’s in the voice I miss.”

There was a long silence…as if this little girl’s words cut to the heart of every man at the radio station. But more than that, 80% of the listening audience were cross country truck drivers, and 2nd shift factory workers.

Across the country, her poem became the voice of every trucker’s daughter, who was longing to see their father….

Isaiah 30:21