There is something unmistakable about a storm. It is not common, as calm days far outnumber stormy ones. While storms may not always come as a surprise, their effects often do. They demand respect because once a storm arrives, it sets certain conditions, and those in its midst must learn to function within them. A storm, much like a sunset, stands as clear evidence of the divine creation of our earth.
The scriptures are rich with accounts of storms that bless, refocus, and refine God’s children through uncomfortable circumstances that become classrooms for growth. From the beginning, the plan of salvation allowed for opposition. Adam and Eve’s courageous choice in the Garden of Eden opened the way for earthly experiences, growth, and progression. Joy, we learn, is only fully understood through its contrast-- often figuratively created by a “storm.”
The difficult seasons of life are evidence not of God’s absence, but of His presence. Jesus Christ desires deeply that we understand how near He is and how fully He wants to help us in every aspect of our lives. Central to the gospel is the truth that He lived, died, and rose again so we might return to our heavenly home. His character is one of closeness, on our right hand and on our left, before us and behind us, guiding us as we navigate mortality (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88). Yet, often, we fail to recognize that closeness until a storm arises.
A Refuge From The Storm
In Noah’s day, the people were ripe for destruction and had forgotten the Lord. “But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord” (Genesis 6:8). Through revelation, Noah was prepared and counseled so that he could protect his family. “And God remembered Noah…and God made a wind to pass over the earth, and the waters assuaged.” (Genesis 8:1) The ark became a tangible symbol of divine mercy and sustaining power. While the storm raged outside, safety was found within. The flood did not signal abandonment; it marked a new beginning. The storm became a conduit to greater things. Every beautiful rainbow that we see following a storm reminds us of that truth (Genesis 9:13-17).
In the Book of Mormon, the Jaredites experienced a storm that was purposely provided to transport them physically from one place to another. The promised land was unreachable without a storm. We read in Ether that “the wind did never cease to blow towards the promised land” (Ether 6:8). The purpose of that storm was not to derail them, but to carry them to a better place.
Focus on Him, Not on The Storm
Centuries later, with the Savior physically in their midst, the disciples found themselves battling waves on the Sea of Galilee. Though the wind raged, Christ slept, teaching that divine calm can coexist with mortal chaos. When fear overcame them, Christ did not shame their weakness. He arose, spoke peace, and showed that even the elements obey Him.
On another stormy night, Christ came to His disciples by walking on the water, showing that storms do not prevent His approach. He comes to us through our storms, not around them.
Protected By A Storm
I had an experience that helped me understand that a storm can be the answer to our difficulty, even if it’s not what we would have anticipated.
My husband and I decided to take our two daughters on a backcountry camping trip to a beautiful lake. We planned to spend two nights there and do a long hike after the first night. We arrived at the lake with our packs and tent and set up camp. The weather was beautiful, and we enjoyed an evening outside under the stars, reveling in this gift of nature. Not long after retiring to our tent, we heard a sound that would terrify anyone. It was very clear to us that the grunting and rustling was a bear- right outside our tent! We stayed very quiet and could hardly breathe as we listened to it wander around outside. We recalled seeing a huckleberry bush near our tent and figured that it was the attraction. It was the longest night of my life! After many hours, the rustling stopped, and the bear left. Our relief was palpable.
After a very fitful sleep, I firmly declared that I would go on the planned hike that day, but there was no way I was staying in a tent again that night. I insisted that I was hiking out, even if I had to do it alone. We enjoyed our hike up and down the mountain that day, and I started to reconsider my decision. I said a fervent prayer as I considered what to do. A calm feeling came over me, and I decided I would stay one more night.
Upon arriving back at our campsite, we were surprised by a sudden change in the weather. Dark clouds began to appear in the sky, and the temperature dropped. We realized that a storm was coming quickly. We hurriedly made our dinner and retired to our tent just in time. A magnificent storm raged all night. I had never before witnessed a rainstorm like that. Because of it, there was no way that a bear was going to come out and wander around our campsite. We were thankful for shelter and managed to stay dry all night, and remained safe.
That night, the storm was my answer.
Peace During a Storm Comes Through Christ
Our figurative storms of life look different for each of us. Anxiety, grief, illness, loss, and uncertainty can suddenly throw our personal worlds into turmoil, leaving us unsure and unstable. Yet the pattern remains unchanged. As in scriptural times, we can be prepared, succored, strengthened, and blessed through the stormy experience. Sometimes, He calms the storm; other times, He strengthens us to endure it. Either way, we are changed. We can emerge more capable, more grounded, and more refined than before. And as reminded by President Jeffrey R. Holland, “It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1999, 38)
Always, Jesus Christ offers us peace, the kind that passes all understanding. (Philippians 4:7) In every age, storms have been the setting, not the absence, of the Saviour’s power. They strip away what is temporary and anchor us more firmly to Him. In Christ, storms do not destroy; they transform. Storms, with all their uncertainty and majesty, can be sacred spaces of divine help, not evidence of divine distance.
Sometimes, the answer is a storm.