“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
— John 1:5
There is a kind of darkness that does not arrive all at once.
Fear often enters quietly. It settles into the mind, wraps itself around memory, and begins to shape how we see the world. It narrows our vision until everything feels heavy, uncertain, and dim. Not because God has left—but because fear has taken the wheel.
Fear is not always loud. Sometimes it looks like caution. Sometimes it sounds like logic. Other times it disguises itself as protection. But when fear is left unchecked, it does something subtle and dangerous: it turns inward.
It doesn’t only affect what we do—it reshapes who we believe we are.
Fear as a Dark Space
Fear is like standing in a dark room where the walls feel closer than they are. The longer we stay there, the more convinced we become that darkness is all that exists. We replay loss. We rehearse worst‑case outcomes. We relive pain as if it were prophecy.
And yet—even in that darkness—there is almost always a flicker.
One thought.
One breath.
One moment of remembering.
Light rarely arrives as a flood. More often, it comes as a speck.
The Flicker God Leaves Us
God does not shame us for feeling fear. Scripture is filled with people who were afraid—deeply, painfully afraid. But what He does consistently is this: He leaves a light.
Not always answers.
Not always relief.
But a presence.
That small flicker is the reminder that fear is not the final authority. It is a signal, not a sentence. Fear tells us where we are wounded—but it should never be the voice that defines our future.
When we notice the flicker, something shifts. The darkness does not vanish, but it loosens its grip. Perspective begins to widen. Hope, even fragile hope, re‑enters the room.
When Fear Becomes Self‑Destructive
Fear becomes destructive when we let it lead instead of heal.
When it dictates our choices.
When it convinces us to isolate.
When it persuades us that loss will repeat endlessly.
At that point, fear no longer protects us—it imprisons us.
This is why fear feels exhausting. Carrying it was never meant to be a permanent state.
Choosing the Light, Even Small
Healing does not require us to banish fear overnight. It asks something simpler, and far braver:
To acknowledge the darkness without surrendering to it.
To look for the flicker.
To sit with God long enough to let that small light grow.
Sometimes faith begins as nothing more than refusing to let fear have the final word.
A Quiet Prayer
God,
When fear surrounds me like darkness,
help me notice the smallest light You’ve placed before me.
Teach me not to follow fear,
but to follow You through it.
Even if all I can see is a flicker,
let it be enough to take the next step.
Amen.
