When Fear Frames the Mind
After speaking with my sister who was crying heavily, devastated, and clearly in agony I found myself searching for a word that could hold what I had heard. Not just her words, but her emotions. That was when I came across Ezekiel 18:31:
“Rid yourselves of all the offenses you have committed, and get a new heart and a new spirit. Why will you die?”
The verse lingered with me, quietly waiting for meaning. It is my sister’s birthday today. I called her on a video call to greet her, expecting warmth, maybe a shy smile. Instead, I saw her sitting alone in the corner of her house, her face soaked in tears, sobbing, barely able to speak. The call ended abruptly. I tried again. The same scene. Moments later, she sent me photos. They were the results of her mammogram and ultrasound. I reviewed every page carefully. There were cysts found in both breasts and in the ovary. My heart paused but only briefly because the conclusion was clear.
The findings were benign. The doctor’s instruction was simple: monitor again after six months. Relief came instantly. I messaged her right away:
“God is good. This is truly a birthday gift for you. It is benign. Nothing to worry about. That’s why the doctor wants to see it again after six months to make sure everything stays okay.” Then I sent another message, speaking not just as her sister but as someone who had lived with the same reality: “I also have benign findings. I’ve been monitoring my left breast since 2018, and it has always been benign. I just had my mammogram last month. So now, you have to celebrate. Stretch, take a shower, and go to church. Light a candle in thanksgiving. Our God is good always trustworthy, never failing us when we place our hearts in Him. This is truly a celebration.”
She replied softly, “Opo, ate.” An hour later, she sent me a photo of a lit candle inside the church. The caption read: “Grateful.” My heart rested. But later, she sent another message: she had seen a former colleague in the hospital someone she did not know had ovarian cancer.
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My sister’s mind had already framed the story
She no longer saw the word benign. Her focus had shifted to the size of the cysts, the hospital environment, and the lived experience of someone else’s suffering. Fear had quietly taken the seat meant for peace. It had been sitting there for days until it finally broke her on her birthday. I write this as a listening pen, listening not only to spoken words, but to what fear does beneath them. I empathize deeply. I do not judge. Each person carries a different threshold for pain, tolerance, and emotional history. The brain can stubbornly frame thoughts so vividly that they feel real so real it is as if the feared future is already happening. When I later messaged her again, I asked gently but honestly:
“You are mourning. . . for what when you are supposed to be celebrating? Another year of life. No one died. You are not sick. You have the chance to thank God by honoring the wishes He already granted you to love your life in a more positive and healthier way.”
Framing is dangerous. I share my sister’s story because it is not hers alone. It has happened to me many times. That stubborn framing. Once created in the mind, it is painfully difficult to dismantle. In my own case, fear often disguises itself as doubt doubt about worthiness, about deserving another chance. I am no saint. I am simply a struggling Christian trying to live life with less stress and more trust.
This verse reminds me that forgiveness is not only about absolution it is about renewal. As long as we ask forgiveness for our daily offenses, a new heart and a new spirit are already available. A new way of seeing. A new orientation to life. Almost like resurrection while still alive. That is why the verse asks, “Why will you die?” Because we can be alive and yet live as though we are not. The real battle is not outside us. Not in hospitals, not in news headlines, not in other people’s diagnoses. It is in how we think, how we frame ideas, and how fear is supported by stories, experiences, suggestions, or borrowed pain from others.
To rid ourselves of old offenses also means ridding ourselves of toxic framing. A new heart becomes courage a helmet protecting us from the rain of contagious and unwanted information. A new spirit becomes perspective a vest strong enough to help us discern truth from the hallucinations fear unknowingly creates.
This realization is my quiet aha moment, we do not need new circumstances to live. only a renewed framing. And with that, we return to life not untouched by fear, but no longer ruled by it.
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“Why Will You Die?”
We do not die when the body fails
we die when fear learns our name
and speaks louder than truth.
We die when benign is ignored,
when gratitude is postponed,
when tomorrow is feared more than today is honored.
Yet mercy stands, waiting,
not asking us to be perfect
only willing.
A new heart is not a reward.
It is a choice.
A new spirit is not a miracle.
It is a reframing.
So why will you die,
when breath still fills your lungs,
when light still finds its way to the altar,
when thanksgiving can still be lit by your own hands?
Live.
Not louder but truer.
Not fearless but renewed.
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🕊️ Reflection Guide for Readers
Fear often speaks first, but reflection teaches us how to listen. Before moving on, allow these questions to help you notice how your own thoughts have been framed
1. What am I mourning that has not actually happened?
Is my grief rooted in reality or in fear I have framed as truth?
2. What word am I refusing to see clearly?
Is it benign, forgiven, safe, enough, or loved?
3. Whose experience am I unconsciously carrying as my own?
A story I heard, a tragedy I witnessed, a fear borrowed from someone else?
4. What does my current framing say about my view of God?
Do I see Him as Sustainer or as a distant observer waiting for me to fail?
5. What would a “new heart” look like in this season of my life?
Courage? Softness? Trust? Rest?
6. What truth do I need to put on like armor today?
Not denial but discernment. Not ignorance but peace.
7. If today were a gift, how would I honor it differently?
Through gratitude, rest, forgiveness, celebration, or surrender?
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