Calm In The Storm

Noticing God’s presence in my life is a gift of grace. During my recent prayer time, I was drawn to Rembrandt’s The Sea of Galilee painting in a reflection I was reading. This picture holds the weight of a thousand prayers. It doesn’t just depict a storm. It knows one and somehow, it knows mine.

I’m standing in that boat. Not literally, of course—but in my soul. I’ve felt the wind rise, the waves crash, the panic set in. I’ve cried out like the disciples, “Lord, don’t you care that we’re drowning?” And I’ve stared into the dark, waiting for an answer.

Rembrandt paints that moment with aching honesty. The boat is nearly swallowed by the sea. The disciples are frantic—gripping ropes, clinging to wood, clinging to hope. And then there’s Jesus. Still. Luminous. Unshaken.

It’s the contrast that undoes me. The chaos of human fear against the calm of divine presence. The shadows swirl, but the light—soft, steady—rests on Him. Not because the storm isn’t real, but because He is.

Every time I look at this print, I remember: He is in the boat. Not watching from the shore. Not waiting for me to figure it out. He is here, in the thick of it, with me and that changes everything.

This painting doesn’t promise that the storm will vanish. But it whispers something deeper: that I am not alone. That peace is possible, even when the waves don’t stop. That the One who commands the sea also holds my heart.

If you’re in a storm right now, I hope you find a glimpse of Him—maybe in this image, maybe in a quiet moment, maybe in the love that refuses to let go. He is near and He is not afraid.