Rest in the Middle of the Storm

The last few months have been… a lot.

After Ava’s surgery, life didn’t slow down the way I imagined it might. There have been follow-up appointments, healing, and still a few unknowns surrounding her bone graft that we’re waiting to see play out.

And while all of that was unfolding, life around us kept moving.

Between our family and some close relatives, we found ourselves in the ER three different times in the span of three weeks. Homeschool keeps moving forward, the candle business continues to require attention, and ordinary life somehow keeps threading itself through the middle of it all.

Some seasons of life feel steady and predictable.

This one does not.

Right now, it feels like we’re standing in the middle of a storm of unknowns. Family dynamics, health questions, big life decisions still sitting in the distance without clear answers yet. The kind of season where you can feel the weight of things you can’t fix or control.

And if I’m being honest, there have been moments where the chaos is loud, and the storm inside my chest threatens to drown me. But it never fails. In the proverbial eye of the storm, when I feel like I couldn't be any more broken and beaten, God stoops down and whispers to my spirit:

“I am still here. I am still God. Just rest.”

It's not the kind of rest we plan. It's not a beachside vacation full of sunshine, no phones, and family (although that would be nice).

It's the kind of rest that defies the chaos swirling around.

It's the kind of rest that quiets the storm inside my chest even when the storm outside my chest still rages. It doesn't make everything all better, but it anchors me.

And the more I sit with that word - rest - the more I realize that the kind of rest Scripture talks about is very different from what we usually picture.

Biblical rest isn’t just about stopping or taking a break. It’s about the absence of striving.

It’s the moment when we stop trying to carry things that were never ours to carry in the first place. It’s laying down the endless mental calculations, the “what ifs,” the attempts to control outcomes we cannot control. It’s trusting that God is still God even when life feels uncertain.

Hebrews talks about entering God’s rest, and the more I think about it, the more it feels like an invitation to loosen our grip on the things we keep trying to hold together. Not because the storm disappears. But because we remember who holds the wind and the waves.

There are still unknowns in front of us. There are still things we’re praying through. Still decisions ahead. Still parts of life that feel messy and unresolved. The storm outside hasn’t passed.

But I’m slowly learning that biblical rest isn’t the absence of storms. It’s the absence of striving.

It’s the moment where I stop trying to control outcomes I was never meant to control in the first place. It’s loosening my grip on the endless mental calculations - the “what ifs,” the attempts to fix everything, the pressure to hold everything together. And instead, simply remembering who God is.

Not the God of tidy, predictable lives.

The God who sits with us right in the middle of the chaos and reminds us that He is still sovereign over all of it.

The storm may still rage. But I don’t have to drown in it.

Because even here - in the middle of it - God is still God. And for now, that is where my rest lives.