"That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, 'Let us go over to the other side.' Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, don't you care if we drown?' He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, 'Quiet! Be still!' Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, 'Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?' They were terrified and asked each other, 'Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!'"
— Mark 4:35-41
Imagine being in a boat that rocks violently, water flooding the deck, and discovering that the one who should save you is sleeping peacefully at the bow. This is the anguish of the disciples and, perhaps, yours today. There are moments in our lives when it seems that God is sleeping while our storms approach. The job you were so hoping for may not have worked out as planned. The illness returns. The relationship crumbles. And in that moment of despair, the question escapes: 'Lord, don't you care?'
But there is something profoundly revealing in this narrative. Jesus was not absent; he was present, but purposefully at rest. This is a detail that changed my perspective on crisis. The Master was not ignoring the storm—he knew it before entering the boat. He knew what would happen because every storm has a purpose in His plan. The calm did not come to prevent chaos; it came to transform the faith of his followers through it.
What is striking is how Jesus calms the storm with two words: 'Quiet! Be still!' Not with violence against the wind, but with authority over it. And then he asks a question that reverberates through the centuries: 'Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?' It was not reproach, it was an invitation. An invitation to discover that genuine faith is not the absence of storms, but the unwavering confidence that the one who sleeps in the boat has power over everything that terrifies us.
Today, wherever you are facing a personal storm, Jesus is not sleeping because he has given up on you. He is sleeping because there is nothing that can surprise or frighten him. His peace is not negligence; it is wisdom. When you wake him with your despair—and he wants you to—he acts. But he also wants you to understand a truth: you already have everything you need to get through this because you have faith in the one who controls the very laws of nature. The storm does not define your destiny; your trust in Jesus does.