About two years ago, my friend and I went through a difficult time in life, each facing our own challenges in different ways. It wasn’t a season of sunshine. It was a stormy one—heavy rain pouring and thunder crashing, making it difficult for us to see what lay ahead. It was one of those times where things kept accumulating, and the fog of uncertainty grew thicker. One challenge after another had piled up, creating a fog of confusion and making it difficult to discern God’s direction in our lives. We were like the disciples of Jesus, caught in the middle of a storm, stuck on a boat, longing to hear Him say, “Peace, be still.” Eager to see that small ray of light to guide us back onto the right track, we both got together and prayed for two different situations, each with very specific requests.
My friend’s answers to prayer came first. We were amazed at how perfectly the events unfolded, with every prayer answered exactly as we had prayed. It couldn’t have been a coincidence—it was clear that it was divine guidance. I remember when she called me to share the news, and I responded with awe, “No human hand could have lined up all these events so perfectly. This must be divine!” We saw the rain stop as God brought forth sunshine, accompanied by a rainbow—a beautiful promise of God’s guidance and leading.
Then it was my turn. I longed to see that same ray of light, just as my friend had. At first, things seemed hopeful, with hints that our prayers were being answered. But as the days passed, I realized that things were going in the opposite direction. The storm wasn’t subsiding—it was intensifying. The situation only got worse—worse than it had been before I prayed. In my longing for sunshine, I was met with more storm—heavier rain and louder thunder. I was left with a thicker fog, filled with even more confusion than when I first began.
I remember feeling so angry—furious, really. I felt betrayed and misled. Why had there been even a glimpse of sunshine ahead, only to be replaced by a fiercer storm? It didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t I feel Jesus’ divine presence and hear Him say, “Peace, be still”? Did God even care about what I was going through? Did God see my pain and my struggles, or was He too busy with other, more important matters?
During that time, my friend came to visit, hoping to see how I was doing. As we sat together in her car, I remember thinking with a heavy heart, “I wish God cared about me as much as she did.” God felt so far away. I felt abandoned, torn apart, and left to face the storm alone.
Then, I went for my usual morning jog, where I typically listen to the Bible. But on that day, I was so upset that I couldn’t bring myself to listen, so I ran in silence. Though I thought I wasn’t praying, I was still, in some way, communicating with God—angrily. It was in that moment that one question struck me that changed everything: “Who are you angry at?” “Who are you really angry at?”
It was as if a veil had been lifted, and I suddenly realized—I’m upset at the God who died for me. In that moment, I felt utterly foolish and illogical. How could I be angry at the very God who has given me everything? The weight of that realization hit me hard, and in the depths of my anger, I felt completely unreasonable. If there is one person I should not be angry at, it’s the one who went to the furthest lengths and laid down His life because of His deep, unfathomable love for me.
Did the storm cease? No. Did the rain stop? No. Did the thunder quiet? No. Did the situation suddenly make sense? No. But that day, I went home carrying a deeper sense of peace—one that held me steady, even amidst the chaos of the storm.
My situation wasn’t like my friend’s, where she witnessed the divine rebuking the storm and ushering in a season of sunshine. Maybe I wasn’t like the disciples in Luke or Mark, where Jesus calmed the storm first and then asked them about their faith. Maybe I was more like the disciples in Matthew, still asked to hold onto faith even while the storm raged on, before the miracle had taken place.
No matter how deep the storm escalated, this was one truth that kept me grounded. In the midst of the pouring rain, the shocking thunder, and the blinding lightning, the God who loved me to the point of death was with me on the boat, right in the very heart of the storm.
Germeen Fargo is married to Bassam and is the mom of five amazing girls. With a background in leadership and ministry, she’s currently focused on raising her kids and homeschooling the older ones.