Through the Storm to the Light

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.” John 14:1

During my recent trip, on our way back home, we encountered turbulence on the flight. The sky grew dark, the plane shook, and for a few minutes it felt like everything was uncertain. I snapped a few pictures to remember that moment because it reminded me of life itself. We all face storms that shake us, scare us, and leave us wondering when it will be over. That experience became a doorway into this word for today.

When you board a plane, you don’t know what’s ahead. You settle in, buckle up, and trust. Then the turbulence comes. The sky grows dark, the ride turns bumpy, and fear creeps in. But then the captain’s voice breaks through: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re entering a patch of rough air. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. This aircraft is built to handle conditions like this, and we’ll be through it shortly.”

Notice what the captain says: they name the storm (“rough air is ahead”), they give instructions (“fasten your seatbelt”), they offer assurance (“the plane is built for this”), and they point to hope (“we’ll be through it shortly”). That calm voice doesn’t change the storm, but it changes how you endure it.

Jesus did the same with his disciples. He named the storm; his death was coming. He gave instructions: “Believe in me.” He offered assurance, “I go to prepare a place for you.” And he pointed to hope, “I will come back and take you to be with me.” Just like a captain’s voice steadies a fearful cabin, Jesus’ voice steadies our fearful hearts.

And we need that word today. Storms are battering our communities. Cancer is striking our church family, draining their strength day by day. ICE is tearing families apart, leaving children crying in foster homes and parents grieving in silence in another country. Violence stalks our neighborhoods. Depression and anxiety weigh on our children. Families are unraveling under the stress of bills that never stop coming. And I know something of storms myself. I’ve sat at hospital bedsides where the monitors beep louder than hope, and I’ve prayed through my own nights of uncertainty, wondering if I would see the sunlight again.
But here’s the promise: the Pilot has not left the cockpit. God is steady at the controls. As the psalmist reminds us, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me” (Psalm 23:4). Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr once wrote, “Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservation.” That is what Jesus asked of his disciples then, and what he asks of us now. We don’t need to see the end of the storm to know the sun is still shining. The same God who brought resurrection out of crucifixion will bring hope out of our turbulence, too.

The bumps don’t mean the plane is falling; they mean you’re still flying. And your pilot knows exactly where He’s taking you. So don’t just hold your breath waiting for the storm to pass. Hear this: with the bumpy ride, none of the passengers jumped out. They stayed together. That’s what we do – stay together. Keep praying, keep serving, keep loving in the middle of the bumps. The call is not only to survive the turbulence but to keep moving forward in trust, because the pilot has us in His care.

Prayer: Lord, when our bodies ache, when our families fracture, when fear and loss shake us to the core, hold us steady. Remind us, You are our Pilot, guiding us through the storm. Lift us beyond the clouds into the sunlight of Your hope. Amen.

Written by Rev. Kay Dubuisson