There are seasons when life feels a lot like standing on the deck of a boat in the middle of a hurricane. The wind is loud, the waves are relentless, and even the strongest of us wonder if we’re going to stay upright. Some storms come with warning… others hit out of nowhere. Either way, they shake us.

I’ve walked through years like that, years when peace felt like a luxury reserved for people who had calmer stories, easier pasts, fewer wounds. And if I’m honest, there were times I looked at the chaos around me and thought, “Lord, how in the world am I supposed to find peace in this?”

But here’s the thing I keep learning:

Peace doesn’t always show up by clearing the storm.

Sometimes peace shows up at the center of it.

When I picture peace, I often think of the eye of a hurricane. Everything around it is wild and unpredictable, but that center? Still. Quiet. Undisturbed. The storm might rage, but the eye holds steady.

Jesus is like that center.

In Matthew 8, the disciples experienced this firsthand. The wind was fierce, the waves were crashing over the sides of the boat, and grown men, seasoned fishermen, were convinced they were going to die. Meanwhile, Jesus slept. Not because He didn’t care, but because He knew who He was. He knew the storm couldn’t undo Him. And when they woke Him in panic, He didn’t join their fear. He spoke peace.

I’ve had moments when I felt a lot like those disciples.

Anxiety whipping around me, uncertainty pounding like rain, fear rising just as fast as the water in their boat. Maybe you’ve been there too, white-knuckling your way through something you didn’t see coming, something you didn’t choose.

But every time I turn my eyes back to Jesus, back to the calm center, something shifts.

Maybe the storm doesn’t disappear right away. Maybe the circumstances stay messy or painful or unresolved. But I change. My breathing slows. My shoulders drop. Peace settles in, not because the chaos is gone, but because I’m no longer staring straight at it.

This week, we’re sitting with Scriptures that remind us where peace comes from and who holds it. Not the world. Not our circumstances. Not our own strength. Peace comes from the One who sleeps calmly in the boat because He knows the storm is no match for Him.

If you’re weary today… or overwhelmed… or just plain tired of holding it all together, you’re not alone.

You don’t have to muscle your way into peace. You don’t have to “fix” the storm. All you have to do is turn toward the center, the One who speaks peace over wind and waves, over worry and fear, over every storm that tries to take you under.

As we move into this week together, my prayer is simple:

May you hear the Lord speak peace to your soul.

May you sense His steady presence in the storm.

And may you know — deeply, quietly, fully — that peace isn’t something you have to earn.

It’s something He brings with Him, wherever He goes.

And He’s right here with you.

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