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I grew up with a fear of flying, and it all started in eighth grade when I flew to Washington DC for the first time. As we approached, there was a tornado on the runway. The pilot had to divert to another airport, then we ran low on fuel—all while the plane bounced violently around us. That experience shaped my relationship with flying for years.
Even as an adult, whenever I'd board a plane, the pilot would announce turbulence. I joked that rough air was the only kind I'd ever known. But the real issue wasn't flying—it was the feeling of being out of control.
Recently, my wife and I flew to Miami in the spring. As we climbed into the sky, the pilot announced we'd encounter storm cells and rough air. Just as the warning came, the plane dropped hard—I mean really dropped. My Bible bounced off the ceiling. Coffee spilled. A grandmother behind me grabbed her grandchildren's hands and started praying intensely. I turned around and grabbed her hand too, asking her to keep praying.
But then I realized something: my real fear wasn't about the plane or even the storm. It was about being out of control when turbulence hit.
That's what I want to talk about today. Here's the core issue: you're not in control, and you don't control the storm.
Storms of life are a certainty. Every single person here falls into one of three categories: you're in a storm right now, you're coming out of one, or you're heading toward one. There's no escaping it.
Your storm might be your marriage—maybe you had an argument on the way to church this morning. Maybe it's a child making destructive life decisions, and you feel powerless and heartbroken. Maybe it's a difficult family relationship where you don't feel seen, loved, heard, or honored.
Maybe your storm is at work. Perhaps a job just ended, or you've been rejected in interview after interview for months. Or maybe you're stuck in a job you hate. Maybe it's health—chasing diagnoses, prognosis, medicine, and doctors just trying to feel okay. Maybe it's the season of life itself, and you're experiencing loneliness, wishing there was someone to share your life with.
Before we go any further, I want you to identify it: What is the storm you're in, you're coming out of, or you're heading into? Because underneath all the fears we experience is one fundamental question: What am I going to do when I'm not in control?
We're going to learn from Acts 27, which is one of the greatest chapters on leadership in the entire Bible. Paul is a prisoner being transported to Rome to stand trial before Caesar—but this is God's calling on his life. God told him he'd go to Rome to proclaim the gospel. He just didn't know he'd go in chains.
He's boarding a merchant ship with 275 other people: sailors, soldiers, a centurion named Julius (commander over a hundred soldiers), and Luke and Aristarchus (Paul's companions). Luke documents everything in great detail—so detailed, in fact, that secular historians and archaeologists study this chapter to understand first-century seamanship.
By Acts 27:9, much time had been lost in sailing, and it was dangerous. It was after the day of atonement—October 5th in 59 AD. Romans considered sailing after mid-September to be a death sentence. It was hurricane season.
Paul warned them: "Men, I can see that our voyage is going to be disastrous and bring great loss to the ship and cargo and to our own lives."
But the centurion ignored the prisoner. Instead, he listened to the pilot and the ship's owner. The majority decided to sail on, hoping to reach Phoenix and winter there.
Now, here's something remarkable: Paul was an expert in shipwrecks. Second Corinthians 11 mentions he'd been shipwrecked three times—and that was written before Acts 27. This would be his fourth. When a man with that experience warns you, you should listen. But they didn't.
My first point is this: stay calm by remembering who controls the outcome in the storms of life.
Paul cannot control the weather. He cannot control the sailors, the soldiers, or the centurion. But he can have faith in the one who does control all of those things. And he can calmly demonstrate that faith by giving them divine instruction.
This is the essence of leadership. You calmly point people toward what will go well and what will go poorly. You're teaching them whether they can trust you. It's easy to think, "They won't listen anyway, so why bother?" But that's determining your obedience based on the perceived outcome, not based on trust in God.
You do not determine obedience based on the outcome.
Everything we learned in school—logical, deductive reasoning—says, "What do I think will happen? Therefore, what should I do?" But God sometimes slays giants with boys and slingshots. Sometimes He sends people through fiery furnaces only to bring them through. Sometimes God dies on a cross, is placed in a grave for three days, and rises again. It doesn't make logical sense. So sometimes He brings great good through great bad.
Calm people lead scared people. Scared people don't need a scared leader.
Confidence in God produces calm in the chaos.
I remember when I was a brand-new Christian, not even plugged into a church yet. I was with friends at a bar in Dallas when one friend had too much to drink and picked a fight with the smallest guy there. We were all chest to chest, and as a brand-new believer barely learning to hear the Holy Spirit, I separated them.
"No, no, no," I said to my friend. "I'm sorry—he's had too much to drink. Let me take him home." I apologized to the other guy.
But he said, "Don't you touch me."
Then my crew—these big guys on the creatine workout program—came over and circled up. We were all chest to chest again. I separated them once more.
The man said again, "I told you don't touch me."
I said, "Hey, man, why do you have to be like that? Why be rude? I'm just trying to help you. This isn't going to go well for you."
Then he did something I'll never forget. He pulled out his phone, pushed a button, and said, "Hey, you here? All right. I got something I want you to take care of." Then he just looked at me.
I whispered to my boys, "We gotta go. Now. Get in the car. I don't want to know who he called."
We rushed outside, and I saw who he'd called—two massive guys who looked like they'd just gotten out of an MMA fight. One had a chain around his neck—not a gold chain, but a chain you'd use to pull a car, complete with a padlock.
I said, "No, sir. They left."
And we got in the car.
That man knew who controlled the outcome. He had total calm because his confidence wasn't in himself—it was in the one who controlled the situation.
I don't know where you are. Maybe it's a kid. Maybe it's your marriage, your job, your health, your finances. But I'm asking you right now: Who controls the outcome?
In the valley of the shadow of death, You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)
Don't avoid Him right now. Lean in.
Back in Acts 27:13, when a gentle south wind began to blow, they saw their opportunity. It looked safe. They weighed anchor and sailed along the shore of Crete.
But verse 14: "Before very long, a wind of hurricane force called the northeaster swept down from the island. The ship was caught up by the storm and could not head into the wind. So we gave way to it and were driven along."
They had no control. The wind was taking them wherever it wanted.
The men began desperate measures. They hoisted the lifeboat aboard, passed ropes under the ship itself to hold it together—a technique called frapping the ship. They were trying to keep their boat from being torn apart.
Fearing they would run aground on the sandbars of Syrtis, they lowered the sea anchor. The ship took such a violent battering that the next day they threw the cargo overboard. On the third day, they threw the ship's tackle overboard with their own hands. This tackle was how they steered the ship.
For many days, neither the sun nor the stars appeared. The storm continued raging. And finally, they gave up all hope of being saved.
For fourteen days—two weeks—they were battered by a hurricane, at the mercy of what they thought was nature.
Then, after they had gone a long time without food, Paul stood up before them and said:
"Men, you should have taken my advice not to sail from Crete. Then you would have spared yourselves this damage and loss. But now I urge you to keep up your courage because not one of you will be lost. Only the ship will be destroyed."
This is an amazing leadership moment. He's a prisoner. He just took control of the situation as a prisoner on this ship.
He continues:
"Last night an angel of God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood beside me. Do not be afraid, Paul. You must stand trial before Caesar, and God has graciously given you the lives of all who sail with you. So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will happen just as he told me."
Paul's message to the terrified sailors reveals a crucial leadership principle: even as a prisoner, he took command by pointing everyone toward something larger than their immediate crisis. His confidence wasn't that the storm would change—it was that God remained in control.
When you can't control the storm, remember that your confidence is not in the storm changing; it is in the God who remains in control. Paul knew something the sailors didn't: God had already told him he would stand trial before Caesar. God had already promised the lives of everyone on board would be spared.
This is the foundation of Paul's calm. Not denial. Not pretending the danger wasn't real. But an absolute certainty about God's character and God's plan.
God reminds us again and again: "I know the plans I have for you. I'm going to finish what I started in you. I'm going to carry out to completion what I started in you." This is not a one-time promise. It's repeated constantly because we need to be reminded. Some of you need that reminder this morning.
What storm are you in right now? Parenting. Work. Finance. Loneliness. Health. Maybe it is your greatest opportunity to believe what you say you believe. Maybe it is your greatest opportunity to show the world that you believe what you say you believe.
Everybody's watching. And your faith is most clearly displayed in the trials of life—in the storm.
You can sing worship songs on Sunday morning and declare that you believe in God. But your greatest opportunity to actually believe in God is when you need to believe in God. Faith is really only seen and only displayed in the trials. When we're comfortable and secure, faith isn't required.
Here's what we often pray for: "God, would you give me security, comfort, safety? Help me not to need you." But if dependence is the goal, then your weakness is the advantage. Your struggle, your storm, your trial—that's where you access His grace. "His power is made perfect in your weakness."
Consider John Wesley. He was a pastor, a minister, a missionary, and the chaplain of a ship—yet he wasn't truly a Christian. When Wesley was crossing the Atlantic in 1735, a terrible storm hit. While the English passengers screamed in horror, German Moravian missionaries aboard simply sang hymns with smiles on their faces.
After the storm passed and they realized they'd survived, Wesley asked them, "How were you able to stay so calm? What was happening?" The lead missionary looked at him and asked, "Have you trusted in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?"
Wesley was taken aback. "I'm the chaplain of the ship," he protested.
The missionary replied, "And still I ask you, have you trusted in Christ as your Lord and Savior?"
Wesley described that moment as a "rock in his shoe." It led him to surrender his life to Christ and become truly indwelt by the Holy Spirit. That's his testimony—a pastor who encountered genuine faith in the middle of a storm and realized he didn't have it himself.
People are looking for someone who's actually living by faith. People come to faith by seeing the faith of others. Your storm is your opportunity.
After fourteen days without food, Paul urged everyone to eat. The sailors were so consumed by fear and despair that they'd neglected basic survival. "You have been in constant suspense and have gone without food," Paul told them. "Now I urge you to take some food. You need it to survive."
Then Paul did something remarkable. He took some bread and gave thanks to God in front of them all. Then he broke it and began to eat. This sounds like communion—a reminder that Jesus Christ died for sins, that God raised Him from the dead, that this life is not our home, and that we will be somewhere forever.
Paul's point was clear: God is in charge of the outcome, but we have something we have to do also. We have a responsibility.
You are in charge of your own spiritual growth. Church services are valuable—we sing, we worship corporately, there's Bible teaching. It's a shot in the arm. But this is not enough to grow you. You go home. You wake up tomorrow. What are you going to do tomorrow? That's what will determine how you get through the storm.
Keep the basics in front of you: prayer every day, the Word every day, sharing your faith every day, living on mission every day, staying connected, abiding every single day, spiritual disciplines every single day. Because when the storm comes—and the enemy loves to distract you with anxiety, depression, despair—he'll try to make you cut corners. And that compounds your problem.
You might think, "I don't have time to go to church. I don't have time to go to small group. I don't have time to read the Bible." You cannot afford not to. The decisions you make in the storm will impact your life after the storm.
Don't turn to coping mechanisms. Don't turn to Netflix, scrolling, alcohol, THC, or food in unhealthy ways. Turn to God because He is doing something so much bigger than what you see.
I want you to know with absolute certainty: God is doing things in the midst of your storm that you do not realize. You are completely oblivious to them. You can trust Him. It's what He does.
"He is working out together all things for the good of those who love him, who've been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)
"What the enemy has meant for evil, God uses for my good." (Genesis 50:20)
When my oldest daughter was four years old, I would take her to the grocery store in a shopping cart with a steering wheel. Wherever she would turn the wheel, I would steer us in that direction. She'd turn left, I'd go left. She'd turn right, I'd go right. We'd hit the bananas and the cereal. She thought she was in control, having a blast with dad.
But then sometimes she'd turn left, and I'd steer us right. I'd watch this four-year-old grip that wheel as tight as she could and turn with all her might to the left—and I'd effortlessly push us right. She thought she was in control, but the reality was I had an agenda. I had a grocery list. I was there for a purpose. It was for her good.
When you turn left and God takes you left, you celebrate. You rejoice. You give gratitude. But when you turn left and God takes you right, you still celebrate. You still rejoice. You still give gratitude. You trust. "God, I know you're doing something. I can't see it right now, but I believe in faith that you are doing something for my good. In the midst of this tragedy, in the midst of my grief, in the midst of this storm, do you trust the one that's in control?"
When daylight finally came, they saw the island of Malta. They intentionally untied the rudders, turned the ship toward the island, and crashed it. The stern was ripped to pieces. The soldiers planned to kill the prisoners to prevent any escape, but the centurion wanted to spare Paul's life and kept them from carrying out their plan.
He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. The rest were to get there on planks or pieces of the ship. In this way, everyone reached land safely—276 people.
The centurion recognized something: "That guy's a prisoner, but he's the only reason we're still alive. It seems like he knows the one true God. It seems like he has conversations with the creator of the heavens and earth. He's been giving us instructions while he's in chains. I think we need to listen to him."
Here's what I want you to understand: it never got easy. This is God's man. He is faithful. He's the greatest missionary the world has ever seen. And it never got easy. In fact, next week he gets bitten by a poisonous viper. He can't catch a break.
But he remained faithful because his trust was not in circumstances changing. His trust was in the character of God.
I used to be terrified of flying. Now I'm healed from that fear. One day I sat next to a pilot as we were taking off. I was nervous, hyperventilating, praying. He asked, "You afraid?"
"Yeah," I said. "The plane's going to fall apart in the sky."
"No," he said, "this thing was made to fly. It was made to hold together and stay in the air."
"But what about turbulence?" I asked.
"It's made for so much worse," he said.
Then he asked, "Aren't you afraid when you hit turbulence?"
"Afraid?" he said. "No, we're having fun."
He explained that most pilots were in the Air Force, flying fighter jets, dodging bullets, pulling 9Gs. Commercial flying? "This thing flies itself," he said. "When we hit turbulence, that's the only time we get to use our training."
Then he told me something I'll never forget: "I want you to consider the experience of the pilot. Do you know how many thousands of hours they've spent in an airplane? How many thousands of times they've taken off and landed? This is routine for them."
In the midst of your storm, would you consider the experience of the pilot?
Is God trustworthy? He created everything you see. He spoke it into existence. He set His people free from slavery. He parted the sea and delivered their enemies to them. He unlocked wombs. He provided water from a rock. He gave them food from nowhere. He froze the sun, allowing victory. He brought down the walls of enemies. He defeated a giant with a boy and a slingshot. He shut the mouths of lions. He brought men through a fiery furnace. He fed thousands with a few loaves. He made the weak strong. He healed the sick. He made the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the mute speak.
And He set me free by dying on a cross for my sins. He took all my sins on Him. He took all your sins on Him. He died. The enemy thought it was over. They placed Him in the grave. And three days later He walked out. And He gave you the hope of eternal life.
If He's defeated death, what are you afraid of?
"For he did not give you a spirit of timidity, but one of power, love, and self-discipline. If God is for you, then who can be against you?" (2 Timothy 1:7; Romans 8:31)
His experience is perfect. It's flawless. It's powerful. It's undefeated. What are you afraid of?
I grew up with a fear of flying, and it all started in eighth grade when I flew to Washington DC for the first time. As we approached, there was a tornado on the runway. The pilot had to divert to another airport, then we ran low on fuel—all while the plane bounced violently around us. That experience shaped my relationship with flying for years.
Even as an adult, whenever I'd board a plane, the pilot would announce turbulence. I joked that rough air was the only kind I'd ever known. But the real issue wasn't flying—it was the feeling of being out of control.
Recently, my wife and I flew to Miami in the spring. As we climbed into the sky, the pilot announced we'd encounter storm cells and rough air. Just as the warning came, the plane dropped hard—I mean really dropped. My Bible bounced off the ceiling. Coffee spilled. A grandmother behind me grabbed her grandchildren's hands and started praying intensely. I turned around and grabbed her hand too, asking her to keep praying.
But then I realized something: my real fear wasn't about the plane or even the storm. It was about being out of control when turbulence hit.
That's what I want to talk about today. Here's the core issue: you're not in control, and you don't control the storm.
Storms of life are a certainty. Every single person here falls into one of three categories: you're in a storm right now, you're coming out of one, or you're heading toward one. There's no escaping it.
Your storm might be your marriage—maybe you had an argument on the way to church this morning. Maybe it's a child making destructive life decisions, and you feel powerless and heartbroken. Maybe it's a difficult family relationship where you don't feel seen, loved, heard, or honored.
Maybe your storm is at work. Perhaps a job just ended, or you've been rejected in interview after interview for months. Or maybe you're stuck in a job you hate. Maybe it's health—chasing diagnoses, prognosis, medicine, and doctors just trying to feel okay. Maybe it's the season of life itself, and you're experiencing loneliness, wishing there was someone to share your life with.
Before we go any further, I want you to identify it: What is the storm you're in, you're coming out of, or you're heading into? Because underneath all the fears we experience is one fundamental question: What am I going to do when I'm not in control?
We're going to learn from Acts 27, which is one of the greatest chapters on leadership in the entire Bible. Paul is a prisoner being transported to Rome to stand trial before Caesar—but this is God's calling on his life. God told him he'd go to Rome to proclaim the gospel. He just didn't know he'd go in chains.
He's boarding a merchant ship with 275 other people: sailors, soldiers, a centurion named Julius (commander over a hundred soldiers), and Luke and Aristarchus (Paul's companions). Luke documents everything in great detail—so detailed, in fact, that secular historians and archaeologists study this chapter to understand first-century seamanship.
By Acts 27:9, much time had been lost in sailing, and it was dangerous. It was after the day of atonement—October 5th in 59 AD. Romans considered sailing after mid-September to be a death sentence. It was hurricane season.
Paul warned them: "Men, I can see that our voyage is going to be disastrous and bring great loss to the ship and cargo and to our own lives."
But the centurion ignored the prisoner. Instead, he listened to the pilot and the ship's owner. The majority decided to sail on, hoping to reach Phoenix and winter there.
Now, here's something remarkable: Paul was an expert in shipwrecks. Second Corinthians 11 mentions he'd been shipwrecked three times—and that was written before Acts 27. This would be his fourth. When a man with that experience warns you, you should listen. But they didn't.
My first point is this: stay calm by remembering who controls the outcome in the storms of life.
Paul cannot control the weather. He cannot control the sailors, the soldiers, or the centurion. But he can have faith in the one who does control all of those things. And he can calmly demonstrate that faith by giving them divine instruction.
This is the essence of leadership. You calmly point people toward what will go well and what will go poorly. You're teaching them whether they can trust you. It's easy to think, "They won't listen anyway, so why bother?" But that's determining your obedience based on the perceived outcome, not based on trust in God.
You do not determine obedience based on the outcome.
Everything we learned in school—logical, deductive reasoning—says, "What do I think will happen? Therefore, what should I do?" But God sometimes slays giants with boys and slingshots. Sometimes He sends people through fiery furnaces only to bring them through. Sometimes God dies on a cross, is placed in a grave for three days, and rises again. It doesn't make logical sense. So sometimes He brings great good through great bad.
Calm people lead scared people. Scared people don't need a scared leader.
Confidence in God produces calm in the chaos.
I remember when I was a brand-new Christian, not even plugged into a church yet. I was with friends at a bar in Dallas when one friend had too much to drink and picked a fight with the smallest guy there. We were all chest to chest, and as a brand-new believer barely learning to hear the Holy Spirit, I separated them.
"No, no, no," I said to my friend. "I'm sorry—he's had too much to drink. Let me take him home." I apologized to the other guy.
But he said, "Don't you touch me."
Then my crew—these big guys on the creatine workout program—came over and circled up. We were all chest to chest again. I separated them once more.
The man said again, "I told you don't touch me."
I said, "Hey, man, why do you have to be like that? Why be rude? I'm just trying to help you. This isn't going to go well for you."
Then he did something I'll never forget. He pulled out his phone, pushed a button, and said, "Hey, you here? All right. I got something I want you to take care of." Then he just looked at me.
I whispered to my boys, "We gotta go. Now. Get in the car. I don't want to know who he called."
We rushed outside, and I saw who he'd called—two massive guys who looked like they'd just gotten out of an MMA fight. One had a chain around his neck—not a gold chain, but a chain you'd use to pull a car, complete with a padlock.
I said, "No, sir. They left."
And we got in the car.
That man knew who controlled the outcome. He had total calm because his confidence wasn't in himself—it was in the one who controlled the situation.
I don't know where you are. Maybe it's a kid. Maybe it's your marriage, your job, your health, your finances. But I'm asking you right now: Who controls the outcome?
In the valley of the shadow of death, You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)
Don't avoid Him right now. Lean in.
Back in Acts 27:13, when a gentle south wind began to blow, they saw their opportunity. It looked safe. They weighed anchor and sailed along the shore of Crete.
But verse 14: "Before very long, a wind of hurricane force called the northeaster swept down from the island. The ship was caught up by the storm and could not head into the wind. So we gave way to it and were driven along."
They had no control. The wind was taking them wherever it wanted.
The men began desperate measures. They hoisted the lifeboat aboard, passed ropes under the ship itself to hold it together—a technique called frapping the ship. They were trying to keep their boat from being torn apart.
Fearing they would run aground on the sandbars of Syrtis, they lowered the sea anchor. The ship took such a violent battering that the next day they threw the cargo overboard. On the third day, they threw the ship's tackle overboard with their own hands. This tackle was how they steered the ship.
For many days, neither the sun nor the stars appeared. The storm continued raging. And finally, they gave up all hope of being saved.
For fourteen days—two weeks—they were battered by a hurricane, at the mercy of what they thought was nature.
Then, after they had gone a long time without food, Paul stood up before them and said:
"Men, you should have taken my advice not to sail from Crete. Then you would have spared yourselves this damage and loss. But now I urge you to keep up your courage because not one of you will be lost. Only the ship will be destroyed."
This is an amazing leadership moment. He's a prisoner. He just took control of the situation as a prisoner on this ship.
He continues:
"Last night an angel of God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood beside me. Do not be afraid, Paul. You must stand trial before Caesar, and God has graciously given you the lives of all who sail with you. So keep up your courage, men, for I have faith in God that it will happen just as he told me."
Paul's message to the terrified sailors reveals a crucial leadership principle: even as a prisoner, he took command by pointing everyone toward something larger than their immediate crisis. His confidence wasn't that the storm would change—it was that God remained in control.
When you can't control the storm, remember that your confidence is not in the storm changing; it is in the God who remains in control. Paul knew something the sailors didn't: God had already told him he would stand trial before Caesar. God had already promised the lives of everyone on board would be spared.
This is the foundation of Paul's calm. Not denial. Not pretending the danger wasn't real. But an absolute certainty about God's character and God's plan.
God reminds us again and again: "I know the plans I have for you. I'm going to finish what I started in you. I'm going to carry out to completion what I started in you." This is not a one-time promise. It's repeated constantly because we need to be reminded. Some of you need that reminder this morning.
What storm are you in right now? Parenting. Work. Finance. Loneliness. Health. Maybe it is your greatest opportunity to believe what you say you believe. Maybe it is your greatest opportunity to show the world that you believe what you say you believe.
Everybody's watching. And your faith is most clearly displayed in the trials of life—in the storm.
You can sing worship songs on Sunday morning and declare that you believe in God. But your greatest opportunity to actually believe in God is when you need to believe in God. Faith is really only seen and only displayed in the trials. When we're comfortable and secure, faith isn't required.
Here's what we often pray for: "God, would you give me security, comfort, safety? Help me not to need you." But if dependence is the goal, then your weakness is the advantage. Your struggle, your storm, your trial—that's where you access His grace. "His power is made perfect in your weakness."
Consider John Wesley. He was a pastor, a minister, a missionary, and the chaplain of a ship—yet he wasn't truly a Christian. When Wesley was crossing the Atlantic in 1735, a terrible storm hit. While the English passengers screamed in horror, German Moravian missionaries aboard simply sang hymns with smiles on their faces.
After the storm passed and they realized they'd survived, Wesley asked them, "How were you able to stay so calm? What was happening?" The lead missionary looked at him and asked, "Have you trusted in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?"
Wesley was taken aback. "I'm the chaplain of the ship," he protested.
The missionary replied, "And still I ask you, have you trusted in Christ as your Lord and Savior?"
Wesley described that moment as a "rock in his shoe." It led him to surrender his life to Christ and become truly indwelt by the Holy Spirit. That's his testimony—a pastor who encountered genuine faith in the middle of a storm and realized he didn't have it himself.
People are looking for someone who's actually living by faith. People come to faith by seeing the faith of others. Your storm is your opportunity.
After fourteen days without food, Paul urged everyone to eat. The sailors were so consumed by fear and despair that they'd neglected basic survival. "You have been in constant suspense and have gone without food," Paul told them. "Now I urge you to take some food. You need it to survive."
Then Paul did something remarkable. He took some bread and gave thanks to God in front of them all. Then he broke it and began to eat. This sounds like communion—a reminder that Jesus Christ died for sins, that God raised Him from the dead, that this life is not our home, and that we will be somewhere forever.
Paul's point was clear: God is in charge of the outcome, but we have something we have to do also. We have a responsibility.
You are in charge of your own spiritual growth. Church services are valuable—we sing, we worship corporately, there's Bible teaching. It's a shot in the arm. But this is not enough to grow you. You go home. You wake up tomorrow. What are you going to do tomorrow? That's what will determine how you get through the storm.
Keep the basics in front of you: prayer every day, the Word every day, sharing your faith every day, living on mission every day, staying connected, abiding every single day, spiritual disciplines every single day. Because when the storm comes—and the enemy loves to distract you with anxiety, depression, despair—he'll try to make you cut corners. And that compounds your problem.
You might think, "I don't have time to go to church. I don't have time to go to small group. I don't have time to read the Bible." You cannot afford not to. The decisions you make in the storm will impact your life after the storm.
Don't turn to coping mechanisms. Don't turn to Netflix, scrolling, alcohol, THC, or food in unhealthy ways. Turn to God because He is doing something so much bigger than what you see.
I want you to know with absolute certainty: God is doing things in the midst of your storm that you do not realize. You are completely oblivious to them. You can trust Him. It's what He does.
"He is working out together all things for the good of those who love him, who've been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)
"What the enemy has meant for evil, God uses for my good." (Genesis 50:20)
When my oldest daughter was four years old, I would take her to the grocery store in a shopping cart with a steering wheel. Wherever she would turn the wheel, I would steer us in that direction. She'd turn left, I'd go left. She'd turn right, I'd go right. We'd hit the bananas and the cereal. She thought she was in control, having a blast with dad.
But then sometimes she'd turn left, and I'd steer us right. I'd watch this four-year-old grip that wheel as tight as she could and turn with all her might to the left—and I'd effortlessly push us right. She thought she was in control, but the reality was I had an agenda. I had a grocery list. I was there for a purpose. It was for her good.
When you turn left and God takes you left, you celebrate. You rejoice. You give gratitude. But when you turn left and God takes you right, you still celebrate. You still rejoice. You still give gratitude. You trust. "God, I know you're doing something. I can't see it right now, but I believe in faith that you are doing something for my good. In the midst of this tragedy, in the midst of my grief, in the midst of this storm, do you trust the one that's in control?"
When daylight finally came, they saw the island of Malta. They intentionally untied the rudders, turned the ship toward the island, and crashed it. The stern was ripped to pieces. The soldiers planned to kill the prisoners to prevent any escape, but the centurion wanted to spare Paul's life and kept them from carrying out their plan.
He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. The rest were to get there on planks or pieces of the ship. In this way, everyone reached land safely—276 people.
The centurion recognized something: "That guy's a prisoner, but he's the only reason we're still alive. It seems like he knows the one true God. It seems like he has conversations with the creator of the heavens and earth. He's been giving us instructions while he's in chains. I think we need to listen to him."
Here's what I want you to understand: it never got easy. This is God's man. He is faithful. He's the greatest missionary the world has ever seen. And it never got easy. In fact, next week he gets bitten by a poisonous viper. He can't catch a break.
But he remained faithful because his trust was not in circumstances changing. His trust was in the character of God.
I used to be terrified of flying. Now I'm healed from that fear. One day I sat next to a pilot as we were taking off. I was nervous, hyperventilating, praying. He asked, "You afraid?"
"Yeah," I said. "The plane's going to fall apart in the sky."
"No," he said, "this thing was made to fly. It was made to hold together and stay in the air."
"But what about turbulence?" I asked.
"It's made for so much worse," he said.
Then he asked, "Aren't you afraid when you hit turbulence?"
"Afraid?" he said. "No, we're having fun."
He explained that most pilots were in the Air Force, flying fighter jets, dodging bullets, pulling 9Gs. Commercial flying? "This thing flies itself," he said. "When we hit turbulence, that's the only time we get to use our training."
Then he told me something I'll never forget: "I want you to consider the experience of the pilot. Do you know how many thousands of hours they've spent in an airplane? How many thousands of times they've taken off and landed? This is routine for them."
In the midst of your storm, would you consider the experience of the pilot?
Is God trustworthy? He created everything you see. He spoke it into existence. He set His people free from slavery. He parted the sea and delivered their enemies to them. He unlocked wombs. He provided water from a rock. He gave them food from nowhere. He froze the sun, allowing victory. He brought down the walls of enemies. He defeated a giant with a boy and a slingshot. He shut the mouths of lions. He brought men through a fiery furnace. He fed thousands with a few loaves. He made the weak strong. He healed the sick. He made the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the mute speak.
And He set me free by dying on a cross for my sins. He took all my sins on Him. He took all your sins on Him. He died. The enemy thought it was over. They placed Him in the grave. And three days later He walked out. And He gave you the hope of eternal life.
If He's defeated death, what are you afraid of?
"For he did not give you a spirit of timidity, but one of power, love, and self-discipline. If God is for you, then who can be against you?" (2 Timothy 1:7; Romans 8:31)
His experience is perfect. It's flawless. It's powerful. It's undefeated. What are you afraid of?
