Eye Of The Storm - 50 Days of Hope

Eye Of The Storm

The more I talk with my cousin Jim about his days of flying with an Air Force weather reconnaissance team, the more I believe that dealing with a cancer diagnosis is a lot like flying into a hurricane: both require an inordinate amount of trust.

Jim agrees with my observation and says it was difficult at first for him to trust he was going to be okay as his plane flew right into the eye of a storm.

“There’s a lot of trust going on when you’re going into harm’s way,” he explains. “You have to trust in the plane and the people who made it. You have to trust in the people who maintain the plane and that it won’t fall apart. And you have to trust that the other crew members know what they’re doing. And they all have to trust in you—that you will do the right thing too.

“But the more you do it, the more you know it’s going to be okay,” adds Jim, a retired USAF major, who has flown forty-four times into the eyes of hurricanes and typhoons.

Jim says the scariest part of the team’s mission to gather weather data is the five or ten minutes just before the plane actually flies into the eye of the storm.

“You usually have to fly right through thunderstorms—which, of course, you normally would never do—and the turbulence is sometimes so severe you’re really glad you’re strapped into your seat,” he explains.

But what happens next is so incredible it helps keep people like my cousin flying again and again into the eye of the storm.

“When you break through the eye wall, dramatically and suddenly the turbulence stops,” Jim explains. “What was black and bleak is now sunny, quiet, beautiful, and really awe inspiring. There’s blue sky above you, and you’re like a little fish in the bottom of a bowl. You’ve found the exact, calm center.”

Now I fully realize that, unlike my cousin Jim, you have not chosen to fly into a hurricane. I also realize I can’t change the fact that your life has been touched by a cancer-storm. But I believe with all my heart that the Creator of the universe is able to lead you to the exact, calm center of that storm. I don’t really understand how He does it any more than I understand how the middle of a hurricane can be beautifully quiet. But Jim has been there, so I believe him. The cancer survivors in this book—myself included—have many times found peace in the midst of our cancer-storms, and I hope you’ll believe us, too.

Be still, and know that I am God!

Psalm 46:10

The word translated “still” is the Hebrew word harpu. I’m no Hebrew scholar, but I did some research and found it conveys the idea of being weak, letting go, surrendering, or releasing. It’s the opposite of striving with our fists up, ready to fight or at least defend ourselves. When we are harpu, our arms are at our sides, relaxed.

And that’s where we find the exact, calm center. It’s the place where we can relax in the tight grip of a sovereign God. We relax not because everything is okay, but because we know the One who is in control . . . and will one day in Heaven make everything okay.

Here’s how some other Bible versions translate Psalm 46:10:

Cease striving and know that I am God.^a

Desist, and know that I [am] God.^b

Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God.^c

Our God says, “Calm down, and learn that I am God!”^d

I hope one of these speaks to you today. I’ve included them all because I’m such a word person and know that words can resonate differently with each person. I’m praying one of these renderings of this verse is just the word you need to hear.

Personally, I really like the very literal translation to “cease striving.” I tend to be an organized, driven person who really tries hard to get things worked out and doesn’t do well being still and just relaxing in God’s control!

May I pray for us both?

Heavenly Father, we don’t do well being still. Help each of us to surrender our cancer-storms to You and trust that we can relax because You are in control. Give us the faith to let go and let You give us Your peace. In Your Son’s name. Amen.