Lesson 2 from the Bahamas: When the Storm Finds You Before the Reef

Sometimes the Storm Is the Way Through

If I’m honest—trust has felt like a loaded word lately.

Not because I don’t believe in God’s goodness. I do.
But because we’ve been walking through so many changes all at once… and trusting through transition is no small thing.

Graduation.
The end of homeschooling after 12 sacred years.
Letting go of one season while stepping—sometimes shakily—into the next.

It’s a tender time. A time of releasing.
And while it’s been filled with joy and celebration, it’s also been full of surrender… and of wondering what comes next.

So when we escaped to the Bahamas as a family, I was craving something light. Something steady. A chance to breathe again.

What I didn’t know was that God would meet me in the very place I was struggling: trust.

And that brings me to Lesson 2…

It’s been raining nearly every day.
Which is tricky when you’ve rented a boat and only have a few precious days left to explore the sea. But like life, the best memories don’t always come from perfect conditions.

One day this week, we traded the ocean for a quiet stretch of beach.
No phones. No rush.
Just us five walking barefoot through pink sand, sifting for treasure in the sea glass and silence. We napped, played cards, and ended the day with dinner as the sun dipped bold and brilliant over the bay. It was perfect, even without the perfection we planned.

But the next day… we chased the dream again.
We set off, hopeful for bright blue waters and coral reefs—only to be met with dark clouds and roaring wind.

Before we knew it, we were five people in a 22-foot boat, surrounded by angry seas.
No way back. No clear path forward.
Just storm.

We asked the locals for help, and their answer struck me:

“You’ll be fine.”
“Take it slow. Hug the land. You’ll make it.”

Isn’t that so true of life?

We want the destination—freedom, healing, clarity, joy.
But often the way there looks wild, dark, and overwhelming.
We freeze. We fear. We stay stuck.

But friend, wisdom says: Take it slow. Hug the land. You’ll make it.

So we did. My brave 18-year-old took the helm.
I gripped the boat.
I prayed and cried and asked God to still the storm.
Each wave was a reminder of how not in control I was.
But somehow—with courage, prayer, and wise counsel—we made it back to the harbor.
And I exhaled.

Because the storm became part of the story.
Part of the growth.
Part of the testimony.

And we will never forget it.

Maybe you’re in a storm of your own right now.
Maybe you thought this season would be calm seas and clear skies, but the wind picked up, and you’re not sure what to do next.

You don’t have to go it alone.
You just have to start moving.

Let’s hug the land. Let’s take it slow.
Let’s trust the One who calms the waves. 🌊