It is said that we do not learn to swim in a storm. During moments of calm, we prepare, practice, and strengthen for the turbulence ahead. Yet when the storm rages—whether it is the crashing waves of trials or the howling winds of uncertainty—we discover whether the anchor of our faith holds firm.

Recently, during a lengthy hospital stay, I was confronted anew with my mortality. Born with a rare degenerative disease, my specialists told my wife and I that an infection from which I would not fully recover would probably be what gets me in the end. And here I was, hospitalized with RSV. Was this the one? I know God’s sovereignty extends to everything without exception; there are no maverick viruses. All things, even microscopic organisms that make us very sick, are not random. They bow to the King of the universe, the King of kings. That a loving God is in control is a tremendous comfort! That He has me is balm to my soul! And I know that He causes all things for good to those who love Him, to those who have been called according to His purpose. Yet, the weight of the hour often pressed down upon me. Death was, yet again, a real possibility. 

This “death rehearsal,” as I now call it, was both fearful and clarifying. In the stillness and clinical coldness of that room, tethered to a machine that supported my respiratory recovery, and deciding on my goals of care for the medical staff, one question emerged above all others: Was I ready to die and meet my holy Maker? It was a question that demanded an honest answer, and the weight of eternity made every superficial distraction fall away. Or, is that the fact? Was I ready to let go of my earthly love, my beloved wife? She is not a shallow distraction. She is a valued treasure. Thoughts of her tears and sorrow post-mortem was, and is, unbearable. The fight was real.

Faced with my own helplessness and anxiety and inner turmoil, I began to recite scripture and sing hymns—sometimes silently, sometimes aloud. These truths, hidden in my heart from years of study and worship, became lifelines. One hymn, however, eluded me. It was not forgotten entirely, but the words escaped my tongue at a moment when I most needed to recall them:

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control: that Christ hath regarded my helpless estate and hath shed His own blood for my soul.”

What a comfort this assurance is! That Christ, in His mercy, has already secured our greatest need—the salvation of our souls. When trials buffet us like waves against a vessel, this truth steadies us. He has not only regarded us in our helplessness; He has borne it in full.

The apostle Paul captures this beautifully in Romans: “For if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through His life!” (Romans 5:10, BSB). It is not our strength, nor our resolve, that carries us—it is His life, His blood, and His intercession.

In the hospital, I learned anew that managing my heart was a spiritual mandate. Proverbs instructs us, “Guard your heart with all diligence, for from it flow springs of life” (Proverbs 4:23, BSB). To guard the heart is to entrust it to God daily, keeping it from all that is untrue, anchoring it in the knowledge of His love and grace in Christ. When the storms come—and they will come—it is this guarded heart that finds peace.

I share this reflection not as a completed work but as one in progress. What about you? When you face the reality of your mortality, do you find yourself prepared to meet your holy Maker? Are the words of scripture and the truths of the gospel so embedded in your heart that they rise unbidden when trials press hard?

May we never forget that while storms reveal the strength of our anchor, it is in the calm that we must secure it. Let us hide God’s word in our hearts, that we may not falter when the waves rise and sea billows roll. And may we recall with certainty the blessed assurance that Christ has regarded us and shed His blood for our souls. 

For further reflection, consider Hebrews 6:19-20: “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus our forerunner has entered on our behalf.” And Psalm 73:26: “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

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