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Archive for the ‘Fear’ Category

~ Written by Viki Rife

For several years I’ve been asking God, “Where is the thrill I used to get when I read my Bible?” I used to be like a hummingbird, savoring all the rich nectar of each passage as I held myself poised in the air by the rapid beat of my wings. I rejoiced in the bright colors and rich promises as I read through God’s Word. My stomach fluttered like I was on a roller coaster.

Now, I read chapter after chapter before the tickle in my stomach happens, if it happens at all. The colors of familiar passages don’t attract me like they used to. So my question to God about losing the thrill of reading Scripture has come from a deep concern that I’m losing my first love.

God is so gracious in answering! He pointed out an eagle to me on a recent outing. “Do you see how that eagle just spreads out her wings and relaxes? She lets the wind carry her. She sees more than just a few flowers. She has the whole vista: mountains and streams and trees, all flowing together.

“When you read your Bible now, you aren’t marveling in the same way in anticipation of the rich promises I’ve made. You have experienced My answers in so many ways that instead you are hearing the Spirit gently prodding, ‘Remember when you saw Me do that?’ Part of the thrill you felt was tied to your efforts to find Me. Now your faith has developed confidence that gives you wings to soar!”

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~ Written by Viki Rife

At 16 I graduated high school and got a job at a local hospital. One of my responsibilities involved making sure the radiologists had film cassettes loaded with new film.

One afternoon I got a call from a radiologist who was using the portable x-ray machine in the operating room. He needed more cassettes. I was to meet him in the scrub-room to deliver them.

When I walked into the room, my eye caught sight of the steel counter to the left. To my amazement, it contained five or six dead infants in various stages of development. I remember one had black wavy hair. My first thought was, “how could that many stillbirths occur in one day in our small town?” My teenage mind was horrified.

Just then, a nurse came out of the OR. She saw me staring over at the counter and frowned. “I don’t know why people can’t clean up after themselves,” she grumbled. She went over to the counter, grabbed a trash can, and with one quick move swept all the little bodies into it. Then she pulled out the bag and tied it shut.

I remember thinking, “How will the parents know which child is theirs when they’re ready to bury them?” My mind absolutely could not absorb the fact that the recent ruling of Roe vs. Wade had anything to do with it.

I hid the trauma deep inside and never told a soul.

But my heart was left very vulnerable when it comes to baby deaths. I grieve them with an intensity that has always seemed more than what the average person does. When my own granddaughter died in the womb the week before her due date, I was absolutely numb for two months. Something painful was stirring. It took me a while to figure out what it was. It was the memory of those beautiful dead babies.

Finally, as part of grieving my granddaughter, I allowed myself to examine the incident from so long ago and started processing the emotions that surround it. I was eventually able to share that operating room experience with my husband and a few trusted friends. They have been balm to my aching heart.

I thought I had worked through the trauma. Then last month a couple very close to me lost their baby at 25 weeks. The mother was induced, and I waited in the hallway while the baby was delivered. I saw the doctor leave the room, and a few minutes later a nurse came out carrying a tied trash bag.

The memory from that long-ago day hit like a fist to the stomach. I ran to the bathroom to throw up.

At that point I realized that my horror of living in a society that throws away its children is never going to go away. Thankfully, I soon was able to go into the room and see the baby in her father’s arms. She had not been in that bag. Her tiny body was being treated with dignity and respect by her grieving parents. And, in a strange way, I found the scene comforting. Parents should care that much about their child.

We cannot change our society, no matter what laws we pass. New York’s recent legalization of full-term abortion is only a symptom of our disease of devaluing human life. May God’s people go to our knees in prayer for our society, and may we reach out to help people see the God in whose image they’re made!

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~Written by Viki Rife

I lay in bed, unable to face the day. I had agreed to do something way out of my comfort zone, and now a sense of dread had me immobilized.

Sure, I could call and back out of my commitment. From a human perspective, it would be understandable. Nothing was worth that much stress, after all.

But I had accepted the challenge because I believed God was calling me to do it. So while I wasn’t too hesitant about backing out on a human being, I knew deep inside it would not be right to shrink back from what God had clearly shown me.

As I wrestled with fear, a phrase I had read the night before from Isaiah 61:3 suddenly echoed in my mind, “to give them…the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit” (ESV).

God wanted to replace my faint spirit with something better! I began to praise Him for His power and ability to work despite my weakness. The more I thought about Him, the more I realized He was big enough to handle even my potential failure.

Praise overrides fear any day!

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~ Written by Cassie Rayl

My friend made it clear she felt as if I was her only way out. As she explained her problem, my heart ached as she told me I was her only friend, and the only one who could rescue her from her situation. It would have been so easy for me to drop everything and go rescue her. To be honest, it would’ve stroked my ego as a faithful friend in the best of ways.

Being *Katie’s savior in such a moment seemed like an excellent idea for both of us. Katie would get what she wanted — a quick fix to her problem — and I would have felt needed and indispensable to God’s grander plan.

Katie had just told me she hated God, and because of that, she didn’t think her family would want to help her get through her distress. In her panic, she wanted me to rescue her in secret, without the help of her family, and without speaking Biblical truth.

As I weighed my options of how to help Katie, I firmly heard the Spirit whisper to my heart, “Don’t rescue her. Comfort her, but do not stand in the way of her need of Me.”

I didn’t give my friend what she wanted that day. She was insistent I didn’t understand her need. But I knew in that moment I was guarding her from vulnerability with her Savior. Though Katie didn’t understand at the time, I knew her pain would lead her back to Jesus.

Letting go of my savior complex, and allowing God to work without my help, allowed Katie to find her real 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 

Riding the subway can be nerve racking for someone as claustrophobic as I am. I really don’t like being underground. One hot summer day, my worst nightmare came true. The subway, crammed full of weary, sweaty people heading home from work, stopped with a tremendous jolt. Those of us who were standing fell like dominoes. I glanced out the window at the tunnel walls, so close I could touch them.  

That familiar feeling of panic began to clutch at my throat. A voice came over the intercom, explaining that a train ahead of us had broken down, and we needed to wait until the tracks were cleared.  

A woman near me began to cry. “We’ll be stranded here for hours,” she said. “We’ll probably have to try to walk out between the train and the tunnel wall.” A cold, clammy sweat crept over me. I was pretty sure I was going to pass out.  
A man near her spoke up, “Oh, they have contingency plans for such things. It shouldn’t be too long.”

At that moment I had a choice. Who would I believe? Who was right? I chose to hang on to the hope the man had expressed. As long as I thought that way, I was fine. But whenever my mind started to go toward what the woman had said, the claustrophobia would kick in and I felt myself panicking.  

Hope is a powerful concept. Jesus calls us to listen to His hope when the world around us is threatening to throw us into a panic. Hope is what gets us through our worst nightmares. 

Hope is what Jesus came to give us. 

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~ Written by Viki Rife

“I was up most of the night praying for a home,” my eighty-five-year-old father told me. My heart broke. It wasn’t because his situation was dire. It was because it wasn’t dire, but he didn’t know it. Dementia makes it impossible for him to recognize his room. He will often ask me, “Where will I sleep tonight?” When I point to the bed right beside him, he gives me a relieved smile.

When he needs medical care, he always asks hesitantly, “But can we afford it?” I work to reassure him that he has good coverage. He can only remember it for a few minutes before asking me the same worried question again.  

I wish so much that he could understand and appreciate how good he has it. He admires the décor and courtyards of the health care facility that has been his home for several years, but usually as if he were visiting the home of a stranger. He does not need to worry about where he will sleep or whether he can afford health care. It’s all taken care of.  

It makes me wonder how God feels about my spiritual dementia. I worry and stress, no matter how many times He reassures me and demonstrates that He is taking care of me. I fail to recognize that He has provided me with a place to rest —I don’t have to figure it out. 

If I had His insight on my situation, I would live with so much joy and peace! Please, Lord, heal my spiritual dementia. 

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