Writing for five minutes on the prompt “Afraid,” for
Lord, I am afraid. Ashamed of my fear, yet possessor of it.
It’s fear that makes me shout in anger. But it’s helpless, foolish anger, fury signifying and achieving nothing…
except trouble, further trouble.
But what do I fear?
Name that fear.
Sometimes in the naming I see how foolish is the fearing.
Nearing God, I see a power so large, so with me, so enveloping me with care, protection, and biggest, love…
Lover of my soul, that’s what He is
There is no fear in Love, and so, as it flows, His holy love,
His perfect love…
Perfect love casts out fear.
And I wonder at my trembling, and why I should get myself afraid…