Sleeping Through the Storm

by Brittney Chan

I stopped talking and took a bite of my katsu chicken. I was grateful for the brief moment to contemplate a better way to justify my faith so that her scientific mind could understand it. My friend and I had just stumbled into one of those rare, unguarded conversations that peel back layers and pull people together. I shared pieces of my life – the moments that shaped me and changed me – and now, I watched as she tried to make sense of it all. How could I still believe in a God that has never failed me when my past was filled with failures? How could I still trust that He was in control of it all when chaos surrounded me? Wasn’t all of this religious fluff just a way to cope with the darkness found in the hidden corners of life? 

Months later, I’m still turning that conversation over in my mind. I’ve carried it to God in prayer more times than I can count, unsettled by the raw honesty of her agnostic views. Her words didn’t just challenge my answers; they caused me to revisit the rattled foundations of my faith. And I can’t help but ask myself: How have I made it through the storms? 

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I’ve often heard theologians say that a person’s either in the middle of a storm, coming out of one, or about to walk straight into another one. And that truth sends my mind to the familiar scene where Jesus and His disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee. We all know the story. His destination was the banks of Gergesenes on the other side, and with the sky clear and the water calm, there wasn’t a reason to expect trouble. 

Everyone had settled in for the ride across when the sky turned dark and the storm rose without warning. And it wasn’t just a few raindrops either…it quickly became chaos. The waves emerged viciously from the water and smashed into the sides of the vessel. The men darted fearful glances from one to another, hoping someone would provide a sense of calm. But panic took over as their safety was jeopardized. Where was Jesus? Stumbling around the deck as the boat rocked from side to side…seriously?! Where was Jesus?!

—

I’ve had a moment or two just like that one. Truthfully, you probably have, too. Some of those struggles have been more recent than others, but nevertheless, they always seem to leave me grasping for an answer to that question: Where is Jesus?

The waves of life have a way of testing our balance, pushing us to the edge of stability as we cling to the fragments of unfulfilled plans and broken dreams. In those moments, remaining still feels almost impossible. So, can you imagine the looks of disbelief as those men found the Messiah deep in a REM cycle, while category 5 turmoil surrounded them all? It’s almost like His audacity to rest at a time like this must have meant He didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. His calm must have felt like cold indifference.

And honestly? I get it. I’ve been there too…wondering if God’s stillness in my storm meant He wasn’t paying attention, or even worse, that He didn’t care. It’s an undesirable instinct to assume that silence means neglect. 

But what if we’ve been reading it wrong this whole time? 

Rewind and return to the moment you first felt like Jesus was asleep in your storm. Rather than allowing ourselves to jump to unsustainable conclusions, what if we choose to mirror his demeanor instead? What if it was never indifference, but an invitation to follow His lead? 

Maybe our Savior’s ability to remain calm means there is no need for us to let our emotions escape our control. Maybe His stillness is an example, showing us how we should respond to the utter chaos around us. 

Jesus could sleep through the storm because He knew that even it had to submit to His command. The wind and waves weren’t beyond His reach or authority. And His rest wasn’t a sign of distance, but one of dominance. 

And that’s the answer to my friend’s questions. Even though at times it can feel like our lives are disrupted and our sanity is threatened, He is still in control. He continues to reign over all fears and all failures, redeeming them for His greater purpose. My storm still knows His name. And trembles. 

So the question is: How will your anxious heart respond to His invitation to rest?