He Cares for Those Who Trust in Him

Frank Wible
Aug 7
2 min read

Ryan had always been the one others leaned on. The strong one. The problem-solver. The steady hand in chaos. But the phone call he received that night shattered every illusion of control he had ever held.

Man in dimly lit kitchen, wearing a blue shirt, talks on phone with a concerned expression. Framed photos and appliances in background. — In one phone call, Ryan’s world collapsed.

It was the hospital. His wife, Amanda, had been in a car accident. The words barely registered, only fragments that cut straight to the heart. Critical condition. Head trauma. Life support. He raced to the hospital, hands shaking on the steering wheel, his mouth whispering prayers he didn’t know how to finish.

She passed away just after midnight.

The silence in the hospital room was unbearable. Ryan sat beside her body, numb. No tears. No words. Just devastation. He kept asking one thing over and over. “God, where are You?”

The next few days were a blur. Arrangements. Phone calls. Breaking the news to their young daughter, Ella. He moved through it all like a machine. People told him to be strong, but strength was the last thing he felt. He collapsed on the kitchen floor one night, completely undone.

In that quiet breakdown, he remembered a verse Amanda used to keep taped to the bathroom mirror. “The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in him.” It came back to him like a whisper in the dark.

He did not feel like trusting. He did not feel peace. But he spoke the verse out loud anyway. Again and again, through tears and clenched fists. He said it until his heart started to believe it. Not fully. But enough to keep breathing.

A man in a blue shirt sits on a kitchen floor, visibly upset, with his hand on his forehead. White cabinets are in the background. — He whispered the verse again and again until his heart began to believe it.

The weeks that followed weren’t easier, but they were steadier. Ryan stopped pretending to be okay. He started journaling his prayers. Reading through Psalms. Sitting on the back porch in silence, just being still before God.

He learned that refuge didn’t always mean rescue. It meant shelter in the middle of the storm. God didn’t erase his grief, but He sat with him in it. And in the quiet moments, Ryan began to feel cared for again.

One night, he held Ella in his arms as she cried herself to sleep. He looked down at her and whispered, “He cares for those who trust in Him.” Not as a cliché. But as a promise he had tested with his life.

A year later, Ryan shared his testimony at a men’s group. He didn’t offer answers or clichés. Just raw truth. He told them that when the world falls apart, God remains. That refuge isn’t a place. It’s a person.

Now, whenever a man comes to him in pain, Ryan says the same thing Amanda once lived out. “I don’t have all the answers. But I know where the refuge is. And He cares for you.”

What does God's refuge feel like to you?