I found myself driving alone, in the middle of a place I knew nothing about, with the wind and rain beating against me, and the low hanging dark clouds swarming around me.
It was hard to see.
And I felt my anxiety coming to the surface in what felt like panic and then tears.
Prior to leaving, I had asked God to part the clouds and just make a way for me to get to my destination without going through the storms.
But He didn’t, apparently. So my prayer shifted.
“God, please just get me through this storm.”
Different forms of this begging mantra left my lips over and over again as I slowly made my way down the interstate.
But interestingly enough, this wasn’t the first time. As I said the words again, it took me back to another unknown place, another storm, more darkness.
I remember feeling the same anxiety and fear there, the same panicked tears.
There as I stood in the ER room.
There as I heard the nurse say, “She’s not breathing!”
There as what seemed like every nurse and doctor in the whole hospital surrounded my little girl’s bed in a matter of seconds.
There as I watched them pump air into her lifeless body.
There as I paced back and forth—so many eyes on me.
There as panicked tears trickled down my face and hard quiet sobs made their way from my chest to my lips.
No words seemed right or relevant.
But I found myself echoing the same type of anxious begging prayer.
“God, just pull her life through this darkness.”
“Lord, please get us through this storm.”
That storm is imprinted on my heart and life forever—both in the form of the heartache I found there, and the gratitude that followed as I watched my child slowly recover to her whole self again. Days later, her body began to breathe on its own. Slowly, the Lord pulled us through those dark storm clouds to a place that seemed a little better and a little brighter.
And that day is just one of many storms that have rocked my world in so many hard ways as I parent a medically fragile child—so many stormy moments. So many days when dark clouds felt as if they would just envelope us whole. So many times when it was hard to see anything but the wind and the rain.
You know, there’s a story in Scripture about a storm, too. A time when a boat was rocking amidst the wind and waves and a begging question was asked to the Savior.
“Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, ‘Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!’ He replied, ‘You of little faith, why are you so afraid?’ Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm.” (Matthew 8:23-26)
The thing that sticks out to me here is that the Savior was right there. He was there with the others while the storm was taking place. He was not ignorant of the wind and the waves.
He was present.
Still, it stormed.
Being God in flesh, I have to believe He knew the storm was coming—yet He did not exercise his miraculous powers to prevent it.
Still, He was present, there as the storm began to rage.
As the waves threatened to overtake the boat, his disciple seemed to release a desperate plea a lot like mine: “Lord, save us!”
And the Savior did. Because that’s what He does.
But sometimes the storm still occurs—even with the Lord present.
As we face the hard storms of life, the cloudy dark moments, the times when we think we won’t possibly make it through, we are tempted to think He has forgotten us, left us all alone here . . . but He hasn’t.
As the storm rages around you, remember God is there, too.
Remember that sometimes in this life, storms occur.
This doesn’t mean He has left you or forsaken you.
Friend, He is present amidst it all.
Continue to pray.
Continue to hope for the day when it gets a little better and a little brighter.
And never forget, amidst the stormiest day, still He is present.
This post originally appeared on the author’s blog
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