Shelter In The Storm
Storms have this sneaky way of pulling back the curtain on our souls.
When everything is calm, we can say we trust God. We sing it. We nod along. We even mean it. But when the lights start flickering, when the phone rings with news you weren’t ready for, when the spreadsheet doesn’t balance, when the future you planned suddenly feels fragile... then something deeper kicks in. Instinct takes over. And without even realizing it, we reach for whatever we believe will keep us safe.
For some of us, it’s control. If I can just fix it, manage it, stay ahead of it, then maybe I’ll be okay. For others, it’s escape, numbing, distracting, scrolling, eating, spending. And for some, it’s simply white-knuckling life, proving how much pressure we can take before we crack. Storms don’t create those instincts; they reveal them.
Isaiah 40 steps into that moment and gently, but firmly, reorients us. God does not stand at a distance, arms crossed, waiting to see if you’re strong enough to endure. He doesn’t say, “Try harder,” or “Figure it out.” He says, “Remember Me.” Remember who holds the waters in His hand. Remember who never grows weary. Remember who sees nations as dust and still stoops close enough to shelter His people.
And then He invites us to wait.
Not because waiting is easy. Not because waiting feels productive. But because waiting loosens our grip on the illusion of control and tightens our trust in the One who actually sustains us. Waiting is where strength is renewed, not by effort, but by surrender.
So over the next few days, we’re not rushing past the storm or pretending it isn’t there. We’re slowing down. We’re lifting our eyes. We’re practicing the holy discipline of refuge. Learning what it means to take shelter under a God who never panics, never falters, and never grows tired of holding His people.
This is not about surviving the storm on your own. This is about discovering that you never had to.
Day 1: Remember Who Your God Is
Scripture: Isaiah 40:12, 22
We forget faster than we think we do. Not because we’re careless. Not because we’re faithless. But because pressure has a way of shrinking our vision. When the problem gets loud, God starts to feel distant. When the news cycle won’t slow down, when leadership feels shaky, when the future looks fragile instead of hopeful, our world gets smaller and smaller until all we can see is what’s right in front of us.
That’s why Isaiah doesn’t show up with a brand-new idea. He doesn’t unveil some secret spiritual technique. He doesn’t say, “Let me tell you something you’ve never heard before.” Instead, he asks a question that assumes the answer is already there: Do you not know? Have you not heard?
In other words: You know this. You’ve always known this.
The problem isn’t that God has changed. The problem is that we’ve forgotten. We forget that the God we pray to is the same God who cups the oceans in His hand like they’re nothing more than a sip of water. We forget that the God who feels distant when our lives feel out of control is the same God who stretches the universe out like a tent, effortless, intentional, unthreatened. The weight we feel hasn’t surprised Him. The situation that feels overwhelming to us hasn’t even caused Him to flinch.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: anxiety doesn’t usually come from what’s happening to us. It grows in the space where we’ve stopped remembering who God is. Forget God’s power, and problems grow. Forget God’s faithfulness, and uncertainty multiplies. Forget God’s presence, and fear starts calling the shots.
Isaiah isn’t minimizing pain. He’s not dismissing loss or grief or fear. He’s doing something far more loving. He’s reframing reality. He’s saying, Yes, the storm is real. But it is not final. It is not sovereign. It is not in charge.
God is.
And when God is placed back in His rightful place, high and lifted up, steady and unshaken, everything else begins to fall back into proportion. The storm doesn’t disappear, but it loses its power to define you. Because the story was never about the storm.
It was always about the God who stands above it.
Application:
Take ten minutes today to intentionally remember who God is.
- Step outside and look at the sky.
- Read Isaiah 40 slowly and out loud if you can.
- Name out loud three attributes of God (Creator, Faithful, Protector).
- Let your circumstances shrink in the presence of His greatness.
Prayer:
God, I confess that I forget You are bigger than my fears. Lift my eyes today. Help me remember who You are when the storm feels loud. You are enthroned. You are steady. You are enough. Amen.
Day 2: Take Refuge, Not Control
Scripture: Psalm 27:5
There’s a difference, an important one, between handling the storm and hiding from it. Handling the storm says, I’ll muscle through this. Hiding from it says, If I ignore it long enough, maybe it will go away. But there’s an even deeper distinction Isaiah is pointing us toward: the difference between handling the storm yourself and taking refuge in God.
Because refuge isn’t denial. It’s not pretending the wind isn’t howling or the rain isn’t coming sideways. And it’s definitely not passivity. Refuge doesn’t mean curling up in a corner and waiting for life to happen to you. Refuge means you stop assuming that you are the answer. It’s the moment you admit, I don’t have the strength for this, but I know the One who does.
Tents are such a perfect image for this. They’re not impressive. They don’t scream permanence or power. They’re simple. Temporary. Portable. But they serve a very specific purpose: protection. They don’t eliminate the storm, but they create a space where the storm doesn’t get the final say. And that’s what God offers His people: not escape from reality, but shelter within it.
God never promised to calm every storm on demand. What He promised, over and over again, is His presence in the middle of them. When we reject refuge and reach for control instead, we unknowingly place the weight of outcomes, timelines, and solutions squarely on our own shoulders. And no matter how strong we think we are, that weight will eventually crush us. Anxiety, burnout, resentment, they’re often the evidence of a burden we were never meant to carry.
Taking refuge is an act of surrender, and surrender always feels risky. It feels like weakness. It feels like losing ground. But in the economy of God, surrender is where strength is found. Refuge is a quiet, defiant act of trust that says, God, I believe You are more faithful than I am capable. I trust You more than my strategies, my plans, my ability to manage the chaos.
And when we step into that shelter, when we stop pretending we’re the solution, we finally find the freedom to move forward without being destroyed by the storm along the way.
Application:
Identify one area where you are trying to control instead of trust.
- Say it out loud to God.
- Release the outcome.
- Practice resting today, even briefly, without problem-solving.
Let God be your shelter, not your backup plan.
Prayer:
Lord, I am tired of carrying what was never meant to be mine. Teach me to take refuge in You. Cover me with Your presence and quiet my need for control. I trust You to be my shelter today. Amen.
Day 3: Learn To Wait Without Giving Up
Scripture: Isaiah 40:30–31
Waiting gets a bad reputation.
We hear the word and immediately think of weakness, delay, wasted time—like waiting is what you do when nothing is happening. But Isaiah flips that assumption on its head. The kind of waiting he’s talking about isn’t passive at all. It’s tension. Real tension. The Hebrew word carries the picture of a rope being pulled tight—stretched between two points, under pressure, holding weight.
Waiting is living right there in the middle. Between what God has promised and what you’re currently experiencing. Between I know God is faithful and I don’t yet see how this turns out. And that space? It’s uncomfortable. It exposes impatience. It reveals fear. It presses on every part of us that wants quick resolution instead of deep formation.
But here’s the surprising part: God doesn’t renew our strength by eliminating that tension. He renews it within the tension. If He removed every strain the moment it appeared, we’d never learn trust—we’d only learn relief. And relief fades fast. Strength lasts.
Isaiah gives us the image of eagles for a reason. Eagles don’t soar by flapping harder than everyone else. They don’t muscle their way upward through sheer effort. They rise by yielding—by leaning into invisible currents that carry them higher than their own strength ever could. That’s not laziness. That’s wisdom.
The Holy Spirit works the same way. Waiting on the LORD isn’t about gritting your teeth, forcing yourself to believe harder, or pretending everything’s fine. It’s about staying open. Staying attentive. Trusting that even when you can’t see progress, God is still moving beneath the surface—lifting, shaping, strengthening you in ways effort alone never could.
And here’s the hope buried deep in the tension: the valley is not the destination. Valleys are pathways, not endpoints. Waiting is the space where God prepares you to move forward without losing your soul in the process. It’s where He teaches you how to walk with Him instead of running ahead of Him.
So if you feel stretched right now—pulled tight between fear and faith—that doesn’t mean God has forgotten you. It may be the very place where He’s teaching you how to soar.
Application:
Practice “active waiting” today:
- Pray before acting.
- Pause before reacting.
- Ask the Holy Spirit for guidance instead of pushing for speed.
Notice where God might be strengthening you rather than rushing you.
Prayer:
God, waiting is hard. I want answers, clarity, and resolution—but more than that, I want You. Teach me to wait with trust instead of fear. Renew my strength as I surrender to Your Spirit. Amen.
Storms will come. Valleys will appear. But the God who holds the universe in His hands also holds you. Waiting on the LORD is not wasted time. It’s a transformative time. As you remember who God is, take refuge in His presence, and learn to wait with trust, may you find strength rising where exhaustion once lived. The storm does not get the final word. God does.
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