Be still, and know that I am God.”
— Psalm 46:10 (NKJV)
The man in the boat
In the quiet of reflection, I often picture myself in the same boat with Linda.
When the waves rise, my natural instinct is to grab the oars, shout instructions, or try to correct the course.
But in those moments, I’ve come to realise something uncomfortable:
I may be the man in the boat, but I am not the Master of the wind.
That place belongs to Christ alone.
My role is not to command the storm but to steady my heart, so that my presence becomes a calm space where Christ can be seen.
Headship is not control
Many men I see in counselling struggle with this same tension.
They want to lead but don’t know what leadership looks like when emotions rise.
They know they’re called to be the head of the home, but what does that mean — to lead when the waves are crashing and words are flying?
The world’s version of leadership says “take charge.”
But the Kingdom’s version says “take responsibility.”
One relies on strength; the other rests on surrender.
Headship is not control — it is coverage.
It’s the spiritual posture of standing still before God, even when everything in you wants to fix what’s broken.
It’s choosing to be calm, not because you feel calm, but because Christ is calm in you.
The storm within
The storm around me is never greater than the one within me.
Before I can bring peace to my home, I must allow Christ to speak peace to my heart.
That’s what I’ve learned through painful repetition — that anger, fear, or defensiveness in me does not settle anything in Linda.
If I want calm in the boat, it has to start in me.
The moment I stop defending myself and start listening, the storm begins to lose its power.
It’s not weakness to be quiet; it’s wisdom.
It’s not defeat to stand still; it’s discernment.
Stillness is strength when it is rooted in trust.
When leadership looks like listening
One of the hardest lessons God has taught me is that listening can be leadership.
When I listen to Linda — really listen — without arguing, defending, or correcting, something shifts.
It’s as though my stillness gives God space to speak into her storm as well as mine.
This isn’t about passivity or silence; it’s about presence.
It’s about carrying the peace of Christ into the room instead of my opinion.
And in that peace, something supernatural happens — sometimes quietly, sometimes slowly, but always redemptively.
Calm is contagious
I’ve seen it in myself, in my marriage, and in other men I counsel:
when the husband finds his calm in Christ, it changes the atmosphere of the home.
Children feel safer.
Wives feel heard.
Arguments lose their grip.
Because peace is not just an emotion; it’s authority under Christ’s headship.
The calm of a husband who trusts Jesus carries more weight than any lecture, any defence, or any clever answer.
A reflection and a prayer
Lord, teach me the calm that comes from knowing You are in the boat.
When I am tempted to interfere, teach me to wait for Your intervention.
When I want to fix what only You can heal, help me to stand still and trust You.
Let my leadership be rooted in listening,
my strength found in stillness,
and my peace anchored in Your presence.
Amen.
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.”
— Isaiah 30:15 (NKJV)
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