Storm Calmer, Part 1
It was our first Christmas in Nashville, and we were returning from a visit to Florida to see our families (this was also when the early signs of undiagnosed Lewy Body dementia in Tina’s mom began to manifest). We were driving back into town late Christmas Eve when all of the Davidson county tornado sirens began going off. This was also to be our first of many experiences with tornado sirens and terrifying midnight storms in middle Tennessee. The fear and anxiety kicked in. All of a sudden I became a crazy, frantic, reckless driver trying to get us home as quick as humanly possible. This state of mind drew an appropriate reprimand from a very white-knuckled Tina.
I hate tornados. I hate natural disasters. Storms used to fascinate me but now they just make me extremely anxious and at times, panic-stricken. I’m sure I’m not alone in that. Storms can be very troubling, shaking the foundations of our sense of security in this world.
This passage in Luke ( Luke 8:22-39 ) is a two-part episode that recounts how Jesus deals with storms (both natural and spiritual), how he rescues those of us caught in the storm, and how storms often reveal the faith and sense of identity lacking in us. These two accounts (Jesus calms the storm on the lake, and Jesus casts out the demons from the Gerasene man) are often treated as separate episodes, but I deeply believe these are meant to be read in parallel. One account begins with Jesus and the disciples setting out in a boat, the other bookends it with them returning by boat across the same body of water. Both accounts describe a perilous situation (sudden raging natural storm, and unrestrainable chaotic spiritual storm), both climax with Jesus asking a pointed and revealing question (“where is your faith?”, and “what is your name?”). Both witness a miraculous still and calming of the chaos, and both end with the witnesses being struck with holy fear.
As you can imagine, there are huge caregiving implications in these storm-ceasing accounts as well.
In 2016, we experienced a collision of both kinds of storms. Hurricane Matthew was brooding off of Florida. We convinced Tina’s parents (Doug and Nola), who were at that time living in Titusville, to evacuate north and come stay with us in Nashville until it had passed and run its course. We had incomplete shards of information from Doug about the declining state of Nola’s mind, but we weren’t prepared for the hallucinations, paranoia, sleeplessness, and chaotic thinking we were to encounter. The next week was tumultuous, not only because of the upheaval we had all experienced thanks to Hurricane Matthew, but also because of the unrest and turbulence of the growing dementia storm overtaking Nola. I remember quietly lifting many prayers during that time, desperate pleas not only for God’s clemency with the natural storm, but God’s deliverance from this unnamed and unrecognizable psychological and emotional storm.
God did spare their home (and many others in that area of Florida), and we did return them safely to Florida the following week. But it was another 2 years before we could get a diagnosis for what was unraveling Nola’s mind.
In Luke 8, when the storm is threatening to overtake the disciples’ boat, in their panic and frenzy they shake Jesus awake (at least that’s how I picture this) exclaiming they’re all about to die. Jesus swiftly rebukes the forces of nature, causing a sudden calm. This wasn’t just an “eye of the storm” situation, this was a dramatic and final halt to the threat of the tempest. And then Jesus turns and says “Where is your faith?”
This simple and profound question has so many touchpoints. At the root of that question is more than a rebuke of the disciples for their lacking trust. It’s a “heart of the Father” question meant to imply as much as it is to unearth. “I’m here, I’m bigger than what terrorizes you. I can still every storm. You can weather whatever you face, because…. I. AM. Here.”
As caregivers, we face many natural and circumstantial storms. Our day-to-day peace is so often hijacked by financial woes, medical emergencies, unexpected emotional episodes and mood swings, and our own personal cares and struggles in the midst of our cared-for’s cyclonic needs. It can simply become overwhelming, leading to that inevitable prayer of futility, “where are you God??!!”.
I. Am. Here.
We need to hear that deep in our spirit. And thankfully, Jesus speaks it to our hearts when we need to hear it. If you need to hear it today, simply cry out to him. I don’t believe Jesus was rebuking His disciples for their fear and anxiety - I believe He was essentially saying, “why did you wait so long to wake me?”. He’s there, sometimes simply waiting for us to quit running in circles or bailing buckets of water, as it were, long enough to confess to Him our deep need and to hand Him a bucket.
I. Am. Here.
When I look back on our journey of the last 9 years, there have been many storm situations where it felt like we were simply going to sink. There were actual storms like the tornados of 2020 that touched down on one side of the Senior facility where Doug and Nola were living, that then jumped over their building and came down on the other side - a miraculous act of God sparing those seniors in that independent and assisted living! There was the drawn out storm of the Covid outbreak just weeks later. And there were countless other worries, fears, and terrors. There was loss and grief, and confusion and despair. But when I look back, in all of our most terrorized and desperate moments, there was a voice…
I. Am. Here.
God may not spare you experiencing a storm, or many storms. But He will certainly neither spare you something greater: His presence.
So, beloved caregiver friend, “where is your faith?”. If you’re reading this blog or are searching out spiritual resources to aid in your caregiving journey, you certainly aren’t lacking faith. I don’t believe the disciples were lacking faith either. But sometimes the wind and rain gets so loud and threatening we forget He is in the boat with us. Call on His name. There is power in the name of Jesus. It’s not magical power, it’s the power of His presence. When we call His name, He is there. Hand him a bucket, and then watch in amazement as He does the impossible.
In part 2 of this blog series, we’ll take a look at the other account in this storm-calming episode, where Jesus silences the spiritual storm. Until then, let me share with you a hymn of encouragement in whatever storm you are currently facing.
Often called “The Navy Hymn”, this hymn was written by English choral master and poet, William Whiting (1825-1878). It was was inspired by the dangers of the sea described in Psalm 107, and based on a poem which Whiting wrote to encourage a pupil who was about to undertake a long sea-journey
(https://www.godsongs.net/2021/01/eternal-father-strong-to-save-the-navy-hymn..html).
Eternal Father Strong to Save
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm does bind the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
O Saviour, whose almighty word
The winds and waves submissive heard,
Who walked upon the foaming deep,
And calm amid the rage did sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
O Holy Spirit, who did brood
Upon the waters dark and rude,
And bid their angry tumult cease,
And give for wild confusion peace;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
O Trinity of love and pow'r,
Your children shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire, and foe,
Protect them where-so-e'er they go;
Thus, evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.
For a beautiful recording of this hymn by the Military Wives Choir: https://youtu.be/lUYURZ6wrm4
