A sea walk on the North Yorkshire coast has a way of putting life into perspective. Standing on the shore, watching wave after wave roll in with relentless power, I’m reminded of those ancient words: “Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea — the Lord on high is mighty.” (Psalm 93:4). There are seasons in life that none of us anticipate. Stormy seas you don’t see coming, and peace you couldn’t have manufactured on your own.
It’s the kind of season that quietly rewrites your priorities. Some of what you’d planned never happens. Plenty of what does happen was nowhere on the plan. And looking back from the other side of it, you can find yourself more grateful, more humbled, and more anchored in faith than you were when it began.
When life throws curveballs
In 2025, I was diagnosed with a serious staphylococcal infection caused by bacteria producing a toxin called Panton-Valentine Leukocidin (PVL). The toxin attacks white blood cells and produces severe, recurrent skin and soft-tissue infections. The result was four operations in four months. Not what I’d had in my diary at all.
When a new year begins, none of us knows what it actually holds. We make our plans. We set our goals. We choose our words for the year ahead. And then life happens. Sometimes in ways that quietly humble us. Sometimes in ways that genuinely shake us.
What I’ve learned, slowly and over time, is that uncertainty doesn’t have to mean anxiety. Those two things only get fused together when we believe we’re supposed to be in control of everything. When you let that illusion go, even uncertainty starts to sit differently.
The gift of community
Through this whole journey, Alyson and I have been overwhelmed by the kindness of other people.
Friends who have walked alongside us for decades showed up in ways we’ll never forget. New friendships formed that proved themselves true and loyal in the kind of season that quickly tests a friendship. And complete strangers, people whose names we may never know, extended grace that moved us more than they could possibly realise.
The care I received from the NHS has been remarkable. Across Scarborough and York hospitals, and locally here in Kirkbymoorside, four GPs, two consultants, and over forty different nurses contributed to my recovery. Each one played a part. Each one reminded me of something I think we forget too easily in our busy, individualistic lives. We aren’t designed to face life’s storms alone.
If that season taught me anything, it’s this. Don’t underestimate the power of simply showing up for someone. Your presence matters more than you know. The people who showed up for us, in big ways and small, made the difference between a season that broke us and one that grew us.
Calm in the storm
There’s something fascinating about the sea. The same water that crashes violently against rocks in a storm can become utterly still and peaceful the next day. Both are true. Both are the sea.
Life works the same way. We can experience the chaos of difficult circumstances while simultaneously knowing an inner calm that doesn’t quite make logical sense. It’s not about pretending the waves aren’t there. The waves are real. The pain is real. The fear, when it comes, is real. But faith isn’t denial. It’s perspective. Knowing that something mightier than the storm is holding us in the middle of it.
As I look ahead, I’m not naive enough to think I can predict what’s coming. None of us can. But I’ve learned to hold my plans loosely while holding my faith tightly. Both seem to matter more after a season like this one.
Three things from a single verse
The verse from Psalm 93 has carried me through more than one moment over the past while. Three things in particular stand out as I take it forward.
1. Acknowledge the waves. The Psalmist doesn’t pretend the waters aren’t thundering or that the breakers aren’t powerful. He names them honestly. Your challenges are real. Your struggles are valid. Faith doesn’t ask us to deny what’s happening. It asks us to see it in proper proportion.
2. Look up, not around. Notice where the Lord is positioned in the verse. On high. When we’re caught in the chaos of crashing waves, our instinct is to focus on what’s immediately around us. But the view from above is very different. Sometimes we need to lift our eyes beyond our circumstances to see what’s actually true.
3. Rest in “mightier”. Not equal to. Not slightly stronger than. Mightier. Whatever you’re facing, health battles, relational struggles, financial pressures, uncertainty about the future, there is One whose love and power exceed it. That’s the deepest comfort I’ve found, and it’s the comfort I’d want every reader to carry into whatever comes next.
Holding both
I’ve come to think that one of the strange gifts of a hard season is the way it teaches you to hold two things at once. The reality of struggle. The reality of grace. The reality that the waves are real. The reality that something is mightier than them.
Both are true. Neither cancels the other. Faith doesn’t tidy up the difficult parts of life. It just refuses to let them be the final word.
We don’t know what the years ahead hold. None of us does. But we can know the one who holds them.
So whatever waves you’re facing right now, or anticipating, what would change if you stopped trying to manage the storm yourself, and started trusting that something genuinely mightier than the storm is already holding you in it?