There’s a moment in Mark’s Gospel that has always spoken deeply to me. Jesus and His disciples are crossing the Sea of Galilee when a furious storm suddenly sweeps down. The waves crash into the boat, the wind howls, and the disciples — experienced fishermen — panic. Meanwhile, Jesus is asleep in the stern, on a cushion.
When they wake Him, shouting, “Teacher, don’t You care that we are perishing?” Jesus rises, rebukes the wind, and says to the sea, “Peace, be still.” And the wind ceases, and there is a great calm. Then He asks them, “Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith?” (Mark 4:35-41 NKJV)
That story is more than an account of wind and waves — it’s a picture of what happens between people, especially within marriage. Sometimes the storm is not outside the boat but inside it — between two people who love each other but are caught in a moment of fear, frustration, or misunderstanding. Words are said, feelings rise, and suddenly the boat that once felt steady begins to pitch and roll.
We can’t always prevent these storms. Differences, hurts, and pressures come. What matters is whether we remember that Jesus is still in the boat. When we turn toward Him instead of against one another, His presence begins to calm the waters. It may not happen instantly — often we must ride out the storm together — but when the winds subside, He helps us to tidy up, to forgive, and to find peace again.
For me, this passage has become a living metaphor for relationships:
The boat represents the life we share — marriage, family, friendship.
The storm represents the conflicts that test our love and faith.
The sleeping Christ represents the peace that is present but often forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Faith doesn’t mean we’ll never clash. It means that when we do, we have Someone greater than our emotions who can still the storm — within and between us.
“And suddenly there was a great calm.”
May that calm, born of His presence, steady your heart and home today.
Sitting Still in the Storm
Sometimes when the storm begins to rise, our first instinct is to row harder — to fix, to control, to make something happen. We think that if we can just do a bit more, push a bit harder, we’ll somehow quiet the wind. But faith often asks the opposite of us.
Jesus’ words to the wind and the waves were the same words He speaks to our hearts: “Peace, be still.”
Stillness isn’t weakness. It’s the quiet strength that trusts God is already at work when we can’t see how. To sit still in the storm is not to give up, but to yield the oars and let Christ take hold of them. It’s the discipline of resting in His presence when everything in us wants to act.
In those moments, stillness becomes a kind of worship — an act of surrender that says, “You are Lord, even over this.”
When we choose to sit still, we begin to see more clearly who is truly steering the boat.
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