During the Storm
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Last November, I sat in the window seat of my American Airlines return flight back home to Oklahoma. I had pulled myself away from my husband and babies a few days before to spend some much-needed time with my grandparents in Florida. My eagerness to kiss my husband and squeeze my babies did nothing to lessen my fear of flying. My recurrent anxiety soars during takeoff and landing, somewhat subsiding during peak altitude. That morning’s takeoff felt especially eerie as my flight’s departure occurred during a dreary rainstorm. We ascended into the low clouds for what seemed like too long. Water droplets rippled across the small window while I stared out expecting to break through the darkness minutes earlier. I began feeling claustrophobic as my sight strained to focus beyond the dense grayness. And then…
Calm. Beauty. Light.
My short trip aligned with the second half of my dad’s trip there, too, and he accompanied me on the first leg of my journey home. I don’t get to spend much one-on-one time with my dad so I was thankful we were sharing a portion of our day together. He had just discovered I was pregnant the day before and ensured I had chewing gum for the changing altitude and a cold water to help keep my nausea at bay. He also made sure to keep me entertained with hours of dad jokes that day.
We boarded our plane, having me settle into the window seat while he sat next to me in the aisle seat. Within a handful of minutes, he was already asleep. He snored through the preflight safety presentation, all through takeoff, and up until he anticipated the first round of inflight service, during which he kindly asked for two packages of Biscoff cookies.
During my takeoff-induced moments of anxiety, my dad was useless, though. No conversation to distract me. No reassurance. Nothing. I sat in my seat staring into a sky full of grayness, allowing my anxiety and fear to consume me. Having the cabin lights dimmed for takeoff exacerbated the circumstances. The quiet and the darkness closed in on me, taking hold of my emotions and feeding my anxiety.
I remembered my November flight last week, as my anxiety and fears resurfaced and multiplied one particular morning. Our world is facing a pandemic and everything feels gray again. The weather here in Oklahoma was dreary and rainy last week, too. The clouds seemed to hover lower and lower as the data and news of the pandemic worsened. I couldn’t feel the sunshine overhead or in my heart. The feeling of being stuck in that rainy November flight crept back in. How long will it take to break through this storm?
I had only a brief moment of contemplation and worry while sitting in my window seat that day, but now my thoughts and my fears run unbridled. Like most of us, I love and worry about plenty of people in my life. I have family members who work in hospitals and warehouses and older loved ones who would be more vulnerable to the virus. I have family members and friends who are asthmatic, are prone to pneumonia, or are battling cancer and other illnesses. I am pregnant with our fifth child and worry about the nature of things come this summer when our baby girl is due to arrive.
The case count continues to rise. The death toll continues to rise. The unemployment data and subsequent financial distress worsens each day. Families are losing so much—loved ones, jobs, and maybe even faith. I urgently pray and pray until my face becomes tear-stained and until my words make little sense.
But it feels like God is sleeping next to me on the plane just like my dad. I know He’s there, but there’s no conversation to distract me. No reassurance. Nothing.
The pandemic and economic disruption our world is currently facing has me questioning God’s presence. The fear and the worry can be consuming on most days, and I was reminded that even Jesus’s disciples experienced fear and doubt (NIV, Matt. 8:23-27; Mark 4:35-41; Luke 8:22-25). The disciples accompanied Jesus across a lake and encountered a raging storm while en route to their destination. Jesus fell asleep prior to the storm developing, leaving the disciples fearing for their safety. As massive squalls threatened their boat, the fearful disciples woke Jesus and pleaded, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!” After Jesus calmed the waters, he questioned, “Where is your faith?”
Goodness. How terrified the disciples must have been to doubt Jesus’s power when he was literally in the boat with them. If only Jesus sat next to me during that stormy takeoff in November to calm my nerves and anxiety. If only Jesus were sitting next to me as I write this to ease my fear and worry about the future. If only Jesus were sitting next to the people of the world battling illness or mourning the loss of their loved ones.
But isn’t he?
Isn’t our Father always near, even when we don’t feel Him?
“The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them.” – Psalm 145:18-19 NIV.
Doesn’t our Father promise to work all things for our good?
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” – Romans 8:28 NIV
Doesn’t our Father desire for us to trust Him?
“Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” – Psalm 62:8 NIV
Our ascension through these dark clouds may continue for some time, but the Lord can calm the storm in our hearts. The fear and the worry. The suffering and the loss. Our Father may not deliver us from the storm just yet, but He promises to be in the storm with us. In Philippians, Paul encourages us to not let anxiety take hold. To approach every season of life with prayer and thanksgiving. And by doing so, “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding” will protect our hearts (4:6-7).
It’s easy to let the troubles of our world consume us. The worry and the fear can easily take hold, but let yourself feel our Father’s presence in your life during this season of trial. He is near, hearing our cries for healing; working for our good; providing us refuge during this tumultuous storm.
"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Romans 12:12 (NIV)