You’re probably tired of hearing me talk about being sick, but here I am again, still wrestling with this relentless virus. It’s been over a week, and I’m still not myself. My ears are completely plugged, the nausea just won’t let up, and honestly... I’ve been downright grouchy.
Yesterday.
What a day that turned out to be.
We had plans. Big ones. I had taken the day off work. The idea was to pick up my daughter the very minute she clocked out, then hit the road for a four-hour drive to meet up with dear friends at a Christian concert. Everything was timed out to the minute. And if you know anything about Type A personalities (ahem), you know how well I handle delays. Spoiler alert: not very well. And being sick on top of it? Let’s just say, patience was in short supply.
My plan was simple: rest as much as possible during the day so I could rally for the evening drive and somehow enjoy myself at the concert. But rest was not in the cards. My phone rang constantly with one urgent thing after another and by mid-morning, I gave up on sleep. Since I was already up and my ears still felt like they were full of cotton, I decided to head to the doctor. That led to a prescription—which, of course, wasn’t ready yet when I showed up at the pharmacy. "Come back in an hour," they said.
By the time I picked up the prescription and made it home, any hopes of a nap had vanished. It was a whirlwind of packing and scrambling. We picked up my daughter right on time, then stopped for food. The wait was longer than expected. Tensions were high. I was frustrated, which made the kids frustrated. Then we ran into bad weather on the drive. On and on, one thing after another tried to throw us off course.
When we finally pulled into the concert venue, we were 45 minutes late. Sweaty, stressed, and worn down, we rushed in trying to shake off the chaos of the day. But then, everything changed.
The moment I stepped inside and heard thousands of voices raised in worship, it was like time stood still. We found our friends, took our seats, and in the sweet presence of God, all the stress melted away. My daughter turned to me and said, “All the stress is gone.” And I looked at her and said, “I know... can you believe it?”. The kids and I gave each other fist bumps for making it through.
Every obstacle, every delay, every single exhausting moment—it was all worth it. Because worship has a way of making the battle to get there feel like part of the blessing.
Isn’t it something—how there’s always a battle before the breakthrough?
Peace never seems to arrive quietly. It doesn’t just tiptoe into our lives, gentle and effortless. No, more often than not, peace has to be fought for. It’s a choice. A decision. A hundred little moments where we have to cling to it with white-knuckled faith, even when everything around us begs us to let go.
Jesus said, “My peace I leave with you.” A promise. A gift. But how quickly we forget. How easily we toss that gift aside the minute life gets hard. The moment plans fall apart, or sickness lingers, or stress starts climbing in through every open window, we let peace slip right through our fingers. We scramble for control, complain about the chaos, eat a bag of Cheetos (just me?) and forget the very peace that was ours to begin with.
It’s almost like we expect peace to come without resistance, as if we won’t have to choose it over and over again in the middle of the mess. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe peace that’s fought for is peace that’s felt more deeply. Maybe it’s in the very struggle, the decisions we make to trust God anyway, that we discover a peace not of this world. A peace that steadies our hearts even when the storm rages on.
And when we finally get to the other side—when the breakthrough comes, when the moment settles and we realize His peace held—we see it for what it truly is.
Not something fragile.
1. It is possible to have peace in the storm.
Jesus showed us that. Literally.
He was on a boat with His disciples in the middle of a furious storm. Waves were crashing, winds were howling, and the boat was being tossed like a toy. The disciples were panicked, convinced they were going to die. And where was Jesus?
Sleeping.
Not pacing. Not instructing. Not worrying. Just... sleeping.
I often think about what it took for Him to be that calm. How physically exhausted must He have been to sleep through a storm like that? But, also, how spiritually anchored was He to rest so completely in the middle of chaos? That kind of rest doesn’t come from sleep alone, but from deep, unwavering trust in the Father.
That moment wasn’t just about the storm on the sea. It was a picture of the storms we face every day. Fear. Illness. Uncertainty. Delays. Disappointment. And yet Jesus models what it looks like to carry peace inside, even when everything outside is shaking.
When Jesus awoke in that boat, He didn’t match the disciples' panic. He didn’t join their anxiety or scold them for waking Him up. He simply stood, spoke to the storm, and said, “Peace, be still.” And immediately, the wind died down and the sea was calm (Mark 4:39).
Then He turned to His disciples and asked, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (Mark 4:40).
That question wasn’t harsh. It was an invitation. An invitation to trust. To believe that the same Jesus who could sleep in the storm also had the power to calm it. Peace isn’t the absence of the storm. It’s the presence of Jesus in it. It’s knowing Who is in the boat with you. And it’s trusting that He isn’t just able to calm the storm around you, but the storm within you, too.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that four-hour drive to the concert. How different could it have been if I had simply chosen peace?
We literally drove through a storm, with sheets of rain pouring down, gray skies pressing low. But in many ways, the real storm wasn’t outside the car. It was inside me. The pressure of being on time, the stress of the delays, the lingering frustration from being sick... it all bubbled just under the surface. And instead of letting it go, I let it lead. I let anxiety take the front seat, and peace never even made it into the car.
But what if I had chosen differently?
What if I had trusted God in the middle of the mess? What if I had turned the rain into a reminder that He washes everything clean, including my frayed nerves and heavy thoughts? What if I had leaned into that time with my kids, those uninterrupted hours on the road, and treated it like the gift it was? We could have laughed more, connected more deeply, shared music, memories, or quiet moments. I could have made space in my heart for peace to rise instead of letting anxiety run wild.
I had the opportunity to grow peace within me. To water it, to nurture it, even while the skies outside were dark. But I let the weather dictate my mood. I let the disruptions steal what could have been sacred.
And yet, God is gracious.
Even in my flustered, frustrated state, He met me the moment I stepped into that concert. The storm didn’t win. His peace did. But still, I’m learning—peace is always an option. It doesn’t wait for perfect conditions. It’s available in the delay, in the rain, in the unexpected. It’s a choice, and sometimes a fight, but it’s never out of reach.
Next time, I want to choose differently. I want to notice the sacred even in the stressful. Because peace isn’t found when everything finally goes right. It’s found when I finally surrender to the One who’s already in control.
2. Sometimes peace requires us to unplug.
After all the chaos of the day, after the stress and the scrambling, the concert was exactly what my soul needed. Worship was powerful. The fellowship was sweet. God’s presence felt so near. That night, we reserved a nice hotel room. It was a little splurge, and honestly, a small miracle that it turned out to be so quiet and serene. Outside the window, the countryside stretched out in calm, rolling hills. I went to bed peaceful, thankful, and feeling completely in tune with the Lord.
But then, 3:00 a.m. rolled around.
I woke up like a match had been struck in the dark. My heart was racing, my mind was spinning, my emotions were tangled up in a ball of frustration, anger, and what I can only describe as anxiety. It came out of nowhere. One minute I was resting, the next I was wide awake, mentally replaying every problem waiting for me at work on Monday. Keep in mind—it was still Saturday night.
I tossed and turned, trying to pray my way back to sleep. “Lord, just give me the solutions. Help me think through everything now so I can rest.” I wanted a download of answers. I wanted peace through clarity. But what I felt instead was a whisper from the Holy Spirit:
“The solutions will come—but you must unplug.”
Unplug.
At first, I wasn’t sure if I was really hearing from God. Does this align with the way Jesus lived?
And yes—yes, it does.
There are multiple times in the Gospels where Jesus stepped away from the crowds, the demands, even His closest friends, to be alone with the Father. One of the most striking examples is found in Mark 1:35:
“Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where He prayed.”
This wasn’t a one-time moment of quiet. It was a rhythm in Jesus’ life. In the middle of miracles, teachings, and people constantly pulling on Him for healing, guidance, and attention—Jesus unplugged. He intentionally stepped away from the noise to be refreshed by communion with His Father.
If Jesus needed that space, how much more do we?
Peace doesn’t always come from having all the answers. Sometimes it comes from stepping away long enough to hear God’s heartbeat again. From letting the to-do list go quiet. From choosing presence over productivity.
You can be unplugged physically, and still be completely plugged in mentally. My body was in the right place. But my mind? My heart? They were tangled in the “what ifs,” the Monday meetings, the deadlines, the weight of everything I couldn’t control. And in that moment, fear began to rise—not because of where I was, but because of where I had let my thoughts go. I was meditating on my problems instead of on the God who promised to carry me through them.
I realized then—being in the right place physically is one thing.
But being in the right place spiritually?
That’s a whole different battle.
That requires trust. That requires faith. It demands a surrender so deep that you stop clinging to the illusion of control and start leaning fully into the hands of your Father. We plan, we strive, we overthink, but in the end, every detail of our lives rests in the hands of the One who never sleeps or panics or forgets.
That night, lying in a dark hotel room with a countryside view and a tangled mind, I realized I didn’t need a spreadsheet of solutions. I needed stillness. I needed to let go of the weight I was carrying and trust that God would give me what I needed when I needed it.
Unplugging, real unplugging, isn’t about booking a spa day or finding a quiet place to sit under a tree—though those can help. It’s about refreshing our faith. It’s about reminding our souls that no weapon formed against us will prosper (Isaiah 54:17), and that the battle we're losing sleep over? It already belongs to the Lord (2 Chronicles 20:15).
When we unplug spiritually, we shift our focus.
From the storm to the Savior.
From the problem to the Provider.
From our limited strength to His limitless power.
God loves us tremendously. Not for what we produce or accomplish, but simply because we are His. Every single day is an invitation to notice that love, to see the fingerprints of His care if we’ll just look in the right place.
So the next time anxiety comes knocking at 3:00 a.m., or fear tries to invade a peaceful moment, pause and ask yourself:
Am I really unplugged? Or am I just physically present, while mentally and spiritually plugged into fear?
Because peace isn't found in our circumstances.
It's found in our connection to the One who never changes.
3: God is bigger than our worries.
Worry is such a sneaky thing. It creeps in quietly, often disguised as responsibility or preparedness, but before we know it, it’s running the show. It runs around, controlling our thoughts, stealing our peace, and casting shadows over our days. But Jesus didn’t leave us without direction. He addressed worry head-on.
In John 14:1, Jesus tells His disciples:
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me.”
That wasn’t just a suggestion. It was a loving command, and Jesus wouldn’t command us to do something that was impossible. He knew the weight this world would place on us. He knew the temptation we’d face to carry burdens that don’t belong to us. But He also knew the power of trust. Real, deep, childlike trust in a Father who never fails.
Worry often makes us live as if we’re orphans, as if we’re navigating this world alone, with no one looking out for us. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. We are not fatherless. We are not abandoned. We are children of a good, attentive, all-knowing God who takes care of us day in and day out.
He knows the number of hairs on your head.
He sees your needs before you even speak them.
And He’s already working behind the scenes in ways you can’t yet see.
Isaiah 54:17 reminds us that “no weapon formed against you shall prosper.” Not the weapon of fear. Not the weapon of anxiety. Not even the weapon of your worst-case scenario thoughts. God is already protecting you in ways you can’t measure.
The truth is, knowing we have that kind of Father, one who walks with us through the darkest valleys, one who never leaves our side, changes everything. It allows us to live a life of confidence and security, not because life is perfect, but because our Father is present.
Did you know that the Bible tells us “Do not fear” 365 times? One time for every single day of the year. God isn’t oblivious to our struggles. He knows how easily we are swept away by the chaos, negativity, and fear this world throws at us. And yet He continues to invite us back into peace.
It is possible to live free from fear.
It is possible to unplug your mind from that exhausting loop of “what ifs.”
And it is possible to live as someone who truly believes they are loved, protected, and cared for, every single day.
Because you are.
You have a heavenly Father who has never stopped watching over you, even for a second. And when that truth becomes real in your heart—not just something you say, but something you believe—it changes the way you live. It changes the way you think. It changes the way you breathe through the hard moments.
Worry may come knocking, but you don’t have to let it stay.
You can trust. You can rest.
And that kind of faith? It’s life-changing.
