The moment the lights went out, I pulled the covers over my head. My mother looked in on me every night before going to bed and smiled at the sight of her small daughter’s nose poking from the covers. She couldn’t have known that it was safety, rather than warmth, that I sought.
Never mind that only a few minutes before, I’d been happily drawing in a small circle of light at my desk. Now my stomach clenched at the thought of the terrors lurking in the darkness. A foul creature might creep from my closet or reach up to grab my foot from beneath the bed. Ghosts weren’t real. Of course, they weren’t.
After the lights went out, I became harder to convince of that.
When need arose, I had to convince myself to bolt from my bed and grope for the light switch. Turning on the hallway light on my way to the bathroom sent shadows skittering. I breathed easier until the time came to dash back through the darkness to bed.
This phobia haunted me into my teen years. It brought me such shame that I never spoke of it. But God saw my torment.
At eighteen, I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, which meant that Second Corinthians 5:17 now applied to me: “Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old things have passed away. Behold, all things have become new.” And yet, fear of the dark still afflicted me.
And then the lights went out at Bible study, and I could no longer hide my fear. My friends gathered around and prayed for me. All at once I could see that I was hanging onto this relic of my past self. Freedom was a simple and beautiful as confessing my lack of faith in God’s protection. I’d accepted Him into my life, but I needed to trust Him as well. Tears running down my face, I surrendered to God.
My fear vanished.
As if on cue, the lights came back on.
I’ve never forgotten the deliverance I received that day. Nowadays I don’t need a light to walk through my house at night. I know the place well enough, and I’m no longer afraid of the dark.
There’s a lot to feel anxious about these days, but releasing my worries to the Lord brings peace. Perfect love casts out all fear, and God is love.
Janalyn Voigt fell in love with literature at an early age when her father read chapters from classics to her as bedtime stories. After Janalyn grew older, she put herself to sleep with stories of her own. She considers this her earliest training in writing. Janalyn is an alumni of Christian Writers Guild. Her memberships include American Christian Fiction Writers, and Northwest Christian Writers. She is represented by Wordserve Literary.
Phoebe can have her pick of suitors but never the man she wants.
Fancy parties and embroidered fans hold little appeal for Phoebe Walsh. She would rather gallop across the open range or help her father with a wounded calf. Of her many admirers, none spark her interest. Ma seems determined to save her from becoming a spinster, but how can Phoebe accept her mother’s choice of suitors when her heart belongs elsewhere?
Several years have passed since Will Canfield stole a kiss and her heart. Remembering her passionate response still curls her insides, but how she feels doesn’t matter. Will’s interest in her isn’t serious, as he’s made clear. She needs to get over the man. If Uncle Con will stop throwing them together, that could be a whole lot easier.
Will feels guilty about Phoebe, but he can’t risk another heartbreak. Being left at the altar certainly changed his mind about romance. Phoebe is better off marrying someone else, even if the idea sets his teeth on edge.
Phoebe and Will must both, with God’s help, conquer an old fear before they can move ahead with their lives. Set during a troubled time in America, the Montana Gold series explores faith, courage, and love in the Wild West.
