Then They Left was inspired during Bible Study at The Vine Church, Pinoso, on Thursday 16th October, 2025, while studying the Book of Acts together with Beryl, Shelley, Margaret, Joyce, Diane, and Sarah. It was one of those afternoons where the Word seemed to open itself; alive, fresh, and full of revelation. A great time of fellowship, rich with insight, reflection, and the unmistakable presence of the Holy Spirit.
As we read through Acts 16 and 17, a small phrase at the end of chapter 16 caught our attention: “Then they left.
At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary ending to a story, but the Holy Spirit began to stir something deeper. Those three words carried the quiet weight of completion. After the pain, the praise, and the prison, Paul and Silas didn’t leave out of frustration or exhaustion. They left because the work of God in Philippi was finished.
That truth settled deep in my heart. It reminded me that when God begins a work, He is faithful to complete it, and only when He’s done can we truly move on in peace. Sometimes His “no” is redirection. Sometimes His silence is guidance. And sometimes His “go” comes only when the season’s purpose has been fulfilled.
This poem grew out of that moment; a quiet reflection on obedience, divine timing, and the peace that comes when you’ve stayed until God says, “Now go.”
Then They Left
The road to Asia was golden,
but Heaven barred the gate.
No storm, no sword,
just silence that said,
“Not this way.”
And how cruel that silence felt,
when the heart was ready,
and the map was clear,
and the Spirit whispered only,
“No.”
Yet what they called delay,
God called design.
Because the path that wounds the feet
still leads to holy ground.
So they turned,
not in failure,
but in faith.
And there,
in the shadow of Macedonia,
they found the song behind the pain.
Chains for a night,
but worship that split the dark.
Blood on their backs,
but grace on their lips.
And in that midnight chorus
Heaven broke its own silence,
and the earth trembled in agreement.
A jailer woke,
and a city stirred,
and somewhere in eternity,
a flame began to spread
toward Europe,
toward us.
And when it was done,
when the hearts had opened,
and the tears had turned to testimony,
Scripture said nothing grand,
no thunder, no farewell,
only this:
Then they left.
No trumpet to announce it,
nor monument to mark it.
Just quiet obedience,
walking away from a finished work.
Maybe that’s all God asks of us,
to stay until the song is sung,
or to plant until the rain comes,
to build until the voice within says,
“Now go.”
And when it’s time,
we won’t need to be told twice.
We’ll rise from the dust,
shake off the ache,
and walk into the next silence,
knowing this one thing:
The Spirit who said “no“
was never denying us.
He was defining us.
And when our season ends,
He’ll write it over our obedience
with the same quiet grace:
Then they left.
Not because they were done,
but because God was.
That afternoon at The Vine Church left more than notes in the margin, it left a stirring in the heart. What began as a simple study became a reminder that God’s direction often comes through His timing, not our planning.
Sometimes He calls us to stay in the place of pain until praise breaks through. And Sometimes He closes the door we’re reaching for because the one behind us isn’t yet finished. And sometimes, when the purpose is complete, He gives peace to move on, not in defeat, but in fulfilment.
Just as Paul and Silas stayed until the song was sung, we too are called to listen, to wait, and to move only when the Spirit whispers, “Then they left.”
Because when God is finished with one season, He’s already preparing the next.