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Archive for the ‘Anxiety’ Category

~ Written by Cassie Rayl

Rarely has God woken me up in the middle of the night to sit at His feet in prayer. Typically, when I’m awakened past the midnight hour, my prayer is a simple, “Jesus, please, put me back asleep.” But the other night, my eyes weren’t tired, my heart kept racing, and I heard the Spirit whisper, “Get up, Child. We need to talk.”

I’ll be honest, I laid in bed counting ceiling tiles for a few minutes. My alarm would officially wake me up in five hours; God could wait till then, right? But before I knew it, I was on the couch with my prayer journal in hand. The second I wrote the words, “Hi, Abba Daddy,” the tears flowed with heart-wrenching intensity.

In the previous 48 hours, my hopes and anticipations for the future had been crushed. No one knew about it other than my husband, and life had continued on at a breakneck speed. The only healing I’d allowed my heart was a quick, “Thanks Jesus; you’re sovereign. We’re trusting you.” I hadn’t taken the time to realize how broken my spirit was, or to acknowledge the self-resenting lies my disappointments had created.

I learned that night what it meant to be honest before the Lord. I had to let myself weep till there were no more tears. I had to actively acknowledge the lies before the Spirit could refresh my heart with truth. I had to sit in silence before God could administer healing I didn’t realize I needed. I had to be broken before I was ready to receive truth which brought me closer to the heart of my Heavenly Father.

There are moments God requires us to go through more pain before He brings healing. It doesn’t make sense at first. But the reality is, God is not afraid of our tears. He knows exactly when all we need is to be held and reminded that we’re loved.

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~ Written by Cassie Rayl

They were promised no one on the ship would die. Their voyage was divinely promised safety. For those on the ship with Paul in Acts 27, though, the squalling winds and terrifying leaks on their vessel didn’t encourage thoughts of safety. As the crew unloaded valuables into the towering waves, there had to be only one thought shared among the men.

Paul’s God isn’t with us. We’re going to die.

But then, Paul says something which seems even crazier. “We’ll all be safe, but first we will run aground.” Paul didn’t sound apologetic. He was simply repeating what the Angel of the Lord had told him. Safety, but not without risk. Life, but not without pain.

Too often, I find myself complaining to God, “You said you’d be faithful! You said I’d prosper! This pain doesn’t look like prosperity. It looks like torture. Where are you?”

Only when I stop to realize the God who holds my life and prosperity in His hands is the same God who sees the big picture, do I stop to thank Him for my own “shipwrecks.” After all, without those terrifying experiences, I may never have had the opportunity to test God’s divine faithfulness. Those shipwrecks taught me my God’s faithfulness never fails.

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~ Written by Cassie Rayl

I’d never ridden a horse. I’m fairly certain I was clueless in regards to chariots. But that didn’t matter. Memorizing a Bible verse about chariots and horses was exciting and mysterious. I loved declaring my trust in the Lord my God alone as I quoted Psalm 20.

For an innocent kid, it was an easy declaration. As life grew more intense and lonely, as everyone’s life does, declaring my trust in Christ got harder. Did I trust Him when my family seemed as if it was falling apart? Did I trust Him when health problems stole my childish abandon at an early age? Did I actually trust Him more than any other resource my life provided? Could I?

I had my moments of doubt. Honestly, I had my seasons of doubt that Christ was enough. Why should He be enough, when the comfort of money and modern medicine were easily accessible? However, as I look back on nearly 30 years of life, I’m refreshed by a very tangible truth.

The things I could depend on in addition to, or instead of, Christ, will always fail at some point. Though there have been moments where God hasn’t done exactly what I wanted Him to do, He does, in fact, keep His promise.

He always answers me when I call out to Him. My life has tested His faithfulness, and His faithfulness has never been found wanting.

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~ Written by Cassie Rayl

I stooped down to wash my kitchen floor and noticed the bruises and scrapes on my legs. I’d mistaken the distance between myself and a wooden pole the other day – hence the hues of black and blue blatantly displayed on my skin.

As a child, I remember thinking pastors’ wives were the most put together women known to the human race. I truly felt they never did anything imperfectly. I must’ve assumed they didn’t have clumsy days, or days where they weren’t exactly the greatest women in history. Now as a pastor’s wife myself, as I beheld my scrapes, bruises and frustrated attitude, I chuckled at my childhood naivety. I couldn’t have been further from the truth in my childish assumption!

Regardless of my reality check, there are still plenty of moments where I feel “less than.” Less than adequate. Less than perfect. Less than suited for this role as a support to a pastor and his ministry. In my weakest of moments, I try convincing God he chose the wrong girl. But then I remember:

Miriam was weak, yet she helped lead a nation.

Rahab was disregarded as “less than,” but she’s in Christ’s lineage.

Mary was a developing, not-at-all put-together teenager, yet she mothered God’s Son.

Sometimes, it’s a blessed gift to simply be reminded that we are not alone in our imperfections, and God uses us anyway.   

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~ Written by Cassie Rayl 

It was a heartbreaking and tumultuous time. I found comfort in a weekly walk to a babbling brook at the foot of a mountain. When it seemed as if everyone was against me, seeing God’s peaceful yet constant stream of water made me breathe more slowly, think more clearly, and let God speak words my heart couldn’t hear otherwise. Within those moments, I was reminded of God’s gentleness, peace, and quiet creativity.

Recently, almost a decade later, I stood before the majestic Niagara Falls in Canada and laughed joyously at the roaring water and the mist that hit my face. There was nothing peaceful and quiet about being a stone’s throw away from such a breathtaking display of God’s creation! But still, in a quiet moment with my husband next to me, I felt God’s power and His gentle but confident and loving voice whisper, “I’m still here. I will never leave you.”

The God of the roaring Niagara Falls is the same God of the babbling, peaceful brook. When we need Him to instill peace in the midst of our turmoil, He can. When we can step away from our circumstances and glory in His power and faithfulness, He’s in those moments as well. In every season, in every circumstance, He is exactly what we need when we need it.

No wonder we call Him Savior!

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~ Written by Viki Rife

It was a stormy winter night on Lake Michigan in 1904. But Harriet Colfax didn’t hesitate to get into her rowboat. One of the few female lighthouse keepers of her era, her destination was the opposite shore of the harbor at Michigan City, Indiana. There were two lights to help ships find the entrance to the harbor. They needed to be lit by hand each evening.

Harriet lived alone. If anything happened to her, there was no one to know or come to her rescue. The most amazing part of her exploit is that Harriet was 80 years old. The courage of this woman makes her one of my heroes. Lake Michigan, with its unpredictable weather, presents a challenge even in the summer. Winter would make it even more brutal.

Having seen a map of shipwrecks on Lake Michigan has given me some insight into what drove this woman. She felt a deep sense of responsibility to save lives. She spent 43 years at her post, making sure the lights were lit faithfully every night.

This story is a beautiful challenge for those of us who believe God has given us a mission to spread His light to those who are in danger. May we never, never allow the storms of life to cause us to abandon our call.

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~ Written by Viki Rife 

The kid down the street couldn’t resist ringing doorbells. He’d move along the row of houses, pushing buttons and hiding when someone opened a door. Ten times a day wasn’t too often for him to interrupt our lives.

Just ignore the doorbell, right? But my dad was the pastor, and because we didn’t have a phone in those days, the ringing of our doorbell could mean someone was in crisis. There was no way our conscience would allow us to ignore the doorbell when it rang. I felt tyrannized by that unpredictable bell.

Recently I realized that I’m caught in that tyranny again. This time, it’s my smartphone. It lets me know when I get a text, an e-mail, or certain Facebook posts or messages. It lets me know if there’s an Amber alert, or a Silver alert, or a weather alert. It reminds me that I have 17 tasks to do this day, or that I have an appointment, or that someone from a group text I was sent two days ago has finally gotten around to responding.

Because I am a conscientious person, I feel obligated to answer. Even if someone sends a mass Facebook message to all their friends that says, “Have a good day,” I feel I should at least acknowledge it with an emoji. I feel tyrannized by my phone. Because I travel a lot, people often don’t realize that I’m in a different time zone, so they send a text that awakens me at unearthly hours.

Yes, my phone has a button to turn it off. I have been turning off notifications on apps that intrude. But my parents are both in poor health, and I want to be available if needed. And I feel ambiguous because sometimes people are waiting on my answer to accomplish what they need to do, and are frustrated that it takes me so long to see their message and respond.

The way my brain feels right now, I understand what Jesus meant when He told His disciples to come aside and rest. The constant demands of everyone at any time was taking a toll on His relationship with His Father. I’m finally allowing myself to let go of the guilt for not being at everyone’s disposal constantly, and making conscious efforts to sit quietly, uninterrupted, at the feet of Jesus. Only He can teach me to live at peace in a frantic world. 

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