But What About Now

 

But What About Now

God,
I am afraid.
My body whispers strange messages,
signals I do not fully understand.
I wonder—
is something breaking inside me?
Is this the time
people never plan for?

I remember that moment,
before Taiwan,
before hope had a destination.
A doctor looked at me
with numbers instead of mercy
and said he would not give the letter.
He thought my body
was already negotiating with death.

The word die
hovered in the room,
heavy, unfinished.

But I asked my sister—
a doctor,
a believer in second chances hidden in chemistry.
She gave me a medicine,
small but brave.
It calmed my blood,
lowered the storm inside my veins.
And suddenly,
the impossible softened.

The doctor approved.
The door opened.
I crossed oceans.
I lived.

So now I ask—
what about now, God?
Is this fear a warning
or just an echo
of an old battle I already won?

If You saved me then,
when the odds were loud,
when death felt close enough to touch,
surely You have not brought me this far
just to abandon me in silence.

My body may tremble,
but my story is not finished.
I am still breathing.
Still walking.
Still asking questions—
and that means I am still here.

God,
if this is another test,
give me calm.
If this is only fear,
teach it to pass.
And if I am weak today,
remind me—

I have survived before.
And I am not done yet.