I fear God—
not for thunder, not for flame,
but for the silent way He takes
the things I love, the things that make me me.
He might erase my only source,
the light that feeds my fragile core.
And though you stand beside my soul,
your promises—warm, yet cannot hold
the trembling void I can’t control.
I fear the day the stream runs dry,
when words and will no longer fly,
when faith turns faint, and I—undone—
will face the dusk, without the sun.
Though you are here, though you assure,
my heart still whispers, insecure:
“What if He takes the source away?
What if I can’t go on that day?”
So I fear God—
not for His wrath,
but for His love so vast, so deep,
it gives, it takes, it makes me weep.




