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Archive for the ‘Growth’ Category

~ 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 Cassie Rayl

“Mommy, please don’t let them do this. Mommy, I’m scared. Mommy? Why?!” I was three years old, and I was undergoing even more medical testing. Because I was so young, the MRI came with tightly-wrapped gauze and a foam wall surrounding my head to ensure I didn’t move during the excruciatingly-long test. I had worked myself into a horrible migraine and anxiety attack, and I wanted the test to be over now.

In my childish perspective, I was incredibly confused why my parents just sat there—obviously upset, but still doing nothing. I was in pain. I was scared. I didn’t want to be a good, cooperative little girl anymore. Why didn’t they rescue me? What was wrong with them?

What I didn’t understand was, though the test was painful, what was behind the pain would be worth every ounce of my discomfort. The test results gave my medical team a better understanding of the issues which plagued my body. Mom and Dad knew the end goal, and they had come to a heartbreaking but necessary decision. My temporary pain was acceptable pain.

I’ve come to understand as an adult that my loving and attentive God watches my life in much the same way. We live in a fallen world where life experiences bring agonizing pain, confusion and despair. It’s easy to look at my Heavenly Father and scream, “Abba? Why?! Why are You allowing this? Can’t You see I’m nearly shattered? Aren’t you supposed to be good?”

But He knows something I don’t. He knows the end goal. He knows just what I need to become more like His Son.

In the end, I can almost hear Him whisper with tears in His eyes, “Child, this pain is temporary. Hang in there. The end result will be worth every second of your pain.

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~ Written by Cassie a Rayl

“You’re one of the most joyful people I know,” my friend said as she hugged me tighter. “For someone to go through as much as you have, it’s just shocking, I suppose.” I smiled and thanked her for the compliment, and then walked away trying not to cry. I’m joyful?

People actually see joy in me? How?

Life hasn’t been easy lately. Friendships have disappeared, dreams have been put on hold, and loved ones are in constant turmoil. I feel as if my entire countenance is filled with processing these things and begging God for relief and restoration. Nothing seems joyful about that right now.

But then I have to remember joy, unlike happiness, is a choice. Joy doesn’t mean the tears stop, the heart burdens are lifted, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Joy means I know Who holds the future, and I’m willing to trust the God Who holds all my unknowns.

Proverbs 31:25 (ESV) says, “Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come.” It doesn’t say anything about her troubles disappearing, but it does speak of the God she trusts. Her trust in God is her identity. It’s her joy.

At times, joy may not feel joyful. But God remains our absolute constant when circumstances change and our hearts experience valleys. Because of that—because of Him—joy can always be our first choice.

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~ Written by Viki Rife

My first real experience with the game of ping-pong was on a ship. There was a ping-pong table on a lower side deck. The deck was actually a long, narrow corridor with a railing separating it from the waves. The ping pong table was popular, so a ten-year-old like myself didn’t have much chance of getting a turn.

Then the ship hit a storm as we approached Rio de Janeiro. The storm was so intense that it delayed the ship’s arrival by two days. Virtually all the passengers and a good number of the crew took to their cabins, seasick. For some reason I felt fine, so a friend and I headed straight for the ping-pong deck.

You guessed it. Learning to land that ball on the table when the ship is tossing in a storm is not really the way to learn to play well. We never could predict where the table would be or at what angle. Ping-pong balls don’t handle well in high winds and high waves, either. To make a long story short, I concluded that I didn’t want ping-pong in my life.

I feel a similar frustration when I try to balance the messages that keep pinging into my life. I missed an important e-mail because it somehow went to my bulk mail. My husband sends a text asking me to pick him up at the car shop and the message doesn’t reach my phone for 52 minutes. I’m awakened at 1 a.m. by an urgent amber alert from a state 1,500 miles away, where I visited last week. A telemarketer calls from three time zones away just as I’m finally asleep.

We live in a world of ping-pong relationships. Information is coming at us much faster than our brains can keep up. The table keeps bouncing. How are we expected to manage it all?

The overwhelming communication demands of our society and the constant interruptions of every project we attempt is like ping-pongs constantly hitting our brains. We desperately need a break.

Jesus was aware of the danger of relational ping-pong. Luke 5:16 tells us that He often withdrew to lonely places and prayed. I guess I’ll turn off my computer, leave my phone in another room, and spend some time seeking His advice for my bruised brain. I don’t have to live with a ping-pong mind.

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~ 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 Viki Rife

Squinting through my windshield wipers, I noticed a group of children walking to school. Their hooded rain jackets and umbrellas grasped tightly, they trudged along hunched against the driving rain.

All except one little girl. Her hair drenched, she danced along holding her umbrella upside down, frequently peering in to see how much water she had collected. She was beaming!

I couldn’t help but think of the old song “Showers of Blessing.” So often we ask for blessings, but we want them to come without any discomfort on our part. We try to shield ourselves from the very inconveniences that bring the answers to our prayers. How much better to turn our protective umbrellas upside down and joyfully, thankfully, collect the blessings as God rains them down!

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~ Written by Melissa Kreis 

I sat comfortably in the shade under a large green maple tree, protected from the sun’s hot rays. Most of the trees surrounding me looked healthy and vibrant. One tree, however, looked like most trees do in December: not a single leaf hung from its bare branches. Obviously, something was very wrong with that tree. I couldn’t help but play the childhood game, “Which one doesn’t belong?” You know, the game where you are given three pictures of a tree. Two are large maple trees with a multitude of green leaves. The third is a smaller maple tree without any leaves, so you circle the last tree.

My mind immediately remembered a passage in Scripture that compares people to trees:

“He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers” (Psalm 1:3).

I thought, “I want to become like the sturdy tree in that verse. How do I do that?” I only had to look at the preceding verses to find my answer:

“Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night” (Psalm 1:1-2).

The last part of this verse grabbed my attention: “…and on his law he meditates day and night.” I envision myself, like the roots of this tree, growing deeper day by day, night by night into the fertile soil of God’s Word.

We cannot always choose where we are planted, but we can choose whether or not we soak up God’s Word. Let’s grow deep roots that will withstand dry days as well as torrential downpours of hardship. Let’s take time every day to nourish ourselves in God’s Word!

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