“Then He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace, be still!’”
— Mark 4:39 (NKJV)
In every relationship there is a boat, and in that boat two people ride out storms together. Some storms come from outside the pressures of life, loss, or fear. Others rise from within old wounds, unspoken expectations, and the quiet clash between how men and women feel, think, and decide.
When the waves rise, it’s often the woman who feels them first. Her heart senses the change in air pressure, the threat, the movement, the emotion. It’s as though she can smell the storm before it breaks.
The man, meanwhile, may still be adjusting the sail, scanning the horizon, trying to work out where the wind is coming from. He’s less tuned to the waves, more to the course.
One husband once said to me that when he sensed a storm coming, whether from his wife’s unrest, a son’s struggle, or his own awareness that something was shifting, his instinct was to get out of the boat and pull it ashore. “I need to fix it,” he said. “The thought of sitting still feels alien to me.”
And yet sometimes, that’s exactly what faith requires: to stay in the boat, to remain beside those who are afraid, and wait for Jesus to speak.
When fear grips one and striving grips the other, the boat begins to drift. But when they remember that the boat is not theirs alone, that Jesus is in it too, the panic subsides. The storm is still there, but no longer in control.
Perhaps the real call to men is not to dominate the sea or silence the waves, but to stay awake, to be present, listening for Christ’s command rather than reacting to fear. And perhaps the call to women is not to suppress what they feel, but to let their sensitivity become the early warning that brings the boat to prayer rather than panic.
When both trust the same Captain, strength and sensitivity become companions, not competitors.
The wind still howls, but the boat holds steady, not because they have mastered the sea, but because they have remembered Who commands it.
And maybe that’s the quiet truth behind all the storms we face, whether in marriage, ministry, or life itself. The goal was never to escape the weather, but to learn to stay with Him in it. Each storm becomes another lesson in trust; another reminder that peace is not the absence of wind, but the presence of Christ.
That now reads as a natural companion piece to your earlier “Storm” reflection — still gentle, visual, and layered with meaning.
What would you like to explore next?
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