Peace. Be sill

 

“He Spoke and the Storm Obeyed…”

The storm didn’t ask permission.

It never does.

One moment the water was still,

the next the sky split open

and the waves rose up

like walls of black water

and the wind screamed

like it had something to prove.

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And the disciples —

seasoned fishermen,

men who knew the sea,

men who had lived their whole lives

on this water —

were terrified.

If they were afraid,

what does that tell you

about how bad it was?

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This was not a passing shower.

This was not a little wind.

This was the kind of storm

that makes grown men weep

and cry out for their mothers

and beg God

for five more minutes of life.

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And Jesus was asleep.

Asleep.

In the back of the boat.

On a cushion.

Resting.

While the waves crashed over the sides

and the water filled the boat

and everything felt like it was ending —

He was asleep.

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And I used to read that

and feel something

I didn’t want to admit was there.

How could You sleep through this?

Don’t You see what’s happening?

Don’t You care that we are drowning?

⸻

And then I realized —

that is exactly what the disciples said.

“Teacher, don’t you care

if we drown?”

⸻

The most honest prayer

in all of Scripture.

God, do You even care?

Are You even watching?

Have You fallen asleep

on the hardest night of my life?

⸻

He didn’t scold them for asking.

He didn’t turn away

from the rawness of that question.

He got up.

⸻

He stood

in the middle of the storm —

wind pulling at Him,

waves crashing around Him,

the whole chaotic, terrifying mess of it —

and He spoke.

⸻

Not shouted.

Not begged.

Not performed a ritual.

He simply spoke.

“Peace. Be still.”

⸻

And the wind stopped.

And the water went flat.

And the silence that followed

was so sudden,

so complete,

so unlike anything

they had ever experienced —

⸻

that they were more afraid

in the stillness

than they had been in the storm.

⸻

Because they realized

what they were dealing with.

“Who is this,” they whispered,

“that even the wind and waves

obey Him?”

⸻

Who is this.

The One who made the wind

told the wind to stop —

and the wind remembered

who it belonged to

and obeyed.

⸻

The One who scooped out the oceans

with the hollow of His hand

looked at those same waters

and said enough —

and they were still.

⸻

This is who is in your boat.

Not a passenger.

Not a fellow sufferer

hoping things work out.

Not someone crossing His fingers

in the back of the boat

wondering how this ends.

⸻

The One who holds the storm

in the palm of His hand —

He is with you.

⸻

And here is what wrecks me —

He didn’t calm the storm

from the shore.

He didn’t speak peace

from a distance.

He was in the boat.

⸻

In the middle of it.

Riding the same waves.

Feeling the same wind.

He got in the boat with them

knowing the storm was coming —

and He stayed.

⸻

He is in your boat too.

In the middle of the diagnosis

that changed everything.

In the middle of the marriage

that feels like it’s taking on water.

In the middle of the grief

that arrived without warning

and won’t seem to leave.

⸻

In the middle of the fear

that wakes you at 3am

and sits on your chest

until morning.

He is there.

⸻

He has not left.

He is not sleeping through your pain

without purpose —

He is present.

And He is powerful.

⸻

And when He decides to speak —

nothing,

not one single thing

in heaven or on earth,

can refuse

to obey His voice.

⸻

Sometimes He calms the storm.

And oh, when He does —

when the thing you’ve been terrified of

suddenly lifts,

when the diagnosis reverses,

when the relationship heals,

when the provision comes

out of nowhere —

⸻

you will stand in that stillness

and whisper with the disciples,

who is this God?

⸻

But sometimes —

and this is the harder grace —

He doesn’t still the water.

Sometimes He stills you instead.

⸻

Sometimes the storm keeps raging

but He speaks peace

into the inside of you —

a quiet so deep,

so unexplainable,

so far beyond

what the circumstances deserve —

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that people look at you

and cannot understand

how you are still standing.

That is Him.

⸻

That is peace

that passes understanding.

That is the God of the storm

holding the heart of His child

steady

in the middle of the waves.

⸻

Either way —

you are not alone in that boat.

You have never been alone.

⸻

The same voice that said

let there be light

and darkness fled —

that voice knows your name.

⸻

That voice is speaking over you

right now.

Peace.

Be still.

⸻

He is not worried about your storm.

He made the storm.

He owns the storm.

He can end the storm

with a single word —

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and until He does,

He is right there

riding it with you.

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So hold on.

Look to the back of the boat.

He is there.

He has always been there.

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And when He stands up and speaks —

oh, watch what happens

to everything

that has been terrifying you. 🕊️

⸻

“He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,

‘Quiet! Be still!’

Then the wind died down

and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples,

‘Why are you so afraid?

Do you still have no faith?’”

— Mark 4:39–40 💛