We live near the Atlantic Ocean, something I once could only imagine. Life brought us here for my flight training, and now the beach is part of our everyday life. Still, I often find myself stopping to take it all in.

In the summer, people come from different states, countries, and walks of life to vacation here. Traffic is crazy, golf carts are everywhere, and the beach is the place to be. When the visitors leave, it becomes a quiet, beautiful place to walk or run.

My kids love walking on the pier and playing in the sand. I spend much of that time chasing them, saying “No!” and wondering how much sand I will have to wash out of their curls later. My lovely wife, meanwhile, sees a perfect opportunity to get a tan!

I think everyone should experience the ocean at least once: sit by the beach, look out over that vast expanse of water, and take a deep breath as the breeze comes in.

During the intensity of flight school, I spent countless hours there having conversations with God. My wife calls it “devotion by the ocean.”

Over time, I have noticed how different the same ocean can look from one day to the next. On a calm day, the waves gently reach the shore. Boats sit anchored offshore for hours. I feel comfortable letting my children get close, touch the water, and feel it wash over their feet.

On other days, the waves are powerful and relentless. Lifeguards watch closely, warning flags go up, and certain areas become unsafe to approach. About a year ago, when a hurricane was nearby, I went to the pier and watched waves that were frightening even from a distance. The beach was empty, and a red flag warned against swimming.

I kept thinking: How can the same water be so inviting one day and so dangerous another?

And honestly, life can feel much the same.

This month, I have been reading Acts, and Paul’s journey in chapter 27 stood out to me. Paul was a prisoner aboard a ship headed for Rome. Along the way, strong headwinds slowed their progress, and sailing became increasingly dangerous. Eventually, a violent storm caught the ship, leaving the crew unable to keep it on course.

They threw cargo and equipment overboard as they struggled to survive. For days, they could see neither sun nor stars. Eventually, they gave up hope of being saved.

Into that fear and exhaustion, Paul spoke words of courage. An angel had assured him that he would stand before Caesar and that God would spare everyone sailing with him. Paul told them to take heart: the ship would be lost, but their lives would be spared.

That detail stayed with me. They would survive, but the ship would not.

Have you ever felt as though you were facing headwinds in every direction?

Maybe it is sickness, and you are tired of waiting for answers and being brave for everyone else. Perhaps it is grief, and you wonder how the world keeps moving without someone you love. Maybe it is a marriage or friendship you are fighting to save, or finances where the math just ain’t mathing. Perhaps it is a job that drains you, another unanswered application, or a dream you pursued in faith. You prayed, prepared, and sacrificed, yet with every step, the headwinds seem to grow stronger.

What once felt calm and promising has become overwhelming. You have tried everything you know, and things still seem to be getting worse.

You lie awake at night. Your mind will not settle. You can barely eat. Like those aboard the ship, you are exhausted from fighting and struggling to hold on to hope.

I have known seasons like that. I have stepped out in faith, believing I was following God, and still encountered doubts, setbacks, and disappointment. Sometimes things worked out as I hoped. Sometimes they did not.

As I read Acts 27, I wondered what it felt like to be one of the people on that ship. I have watched enough storms from the safety of the shore to know I would not want to be caught in one at sea. I have also wrestled with God over why He allows His beloved children to experience such heaviness.

Paul received a specific promise about that ship. We cannot assume that every storm in our lives will end the same way. But his story reminds me that God is present when everything around us feels beyond our control. He knew where Paul was, and His purpose for Paul had not ended in the storm.

I need that reminder.

When circumstances overwhelm me, my instinct is to work harder to regain control. I keep searching for something else I can do, something I can fix, something that will finally make life go the way I thought it should.

There is a place for taking action. The sailors still had work to do, and Paul still gave practical instructions. Yet even with all their effort, they could not command the sea. Neither can I.

Jesus said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

I have seen God come through for me countless times. I have also lived through moments when His help looked different from what I had prayed for. There have been disappointments I could not explain and plans I had to let go of.

Through it all, I am still learning to trust His presence. I am still learning what it means to bring my worries to Him and receive the peace that surpasses understanding.

I have often wondered what that peace feels like in the middle of real uncertainty. I truly have. Perhaps I am learning it in those moments when I can finally pray, “Lord, I do not understand what is happening, but I trust You to help me through it.”

Proverbs calls us to trust God with all our hearts, acknowledge Him, and resist leaning entirely on our own understanding. Gosh, how many times have I struggled with that.

The more I come to know His character and the depth of His love, the more I recognize the limits of my own understanding. I can see only so much of the journey.

I do not know what your ocean looks like today. Perhaps it is calm. If it is, enjoy this season, thank God for it, and acknowledge His goodness in bringing you here.

But if you are in a stormy season like me, take heart. A plan falling apart does not mean God has abandoned you. You can bring Him your disappointment, your questions, and even the fear you struggle to put into words.

My prayer for you is courage for today and the peace God promises as you bring your burdens to Him.

And while you are at it, remember Paul’s practical encouragement to those exhausted people: eat something. Care for the body that has been carrying all this worry.

Perhaps find a quiet place by the water like a pond, a lake, or the ocean, and spend a little time with your Heavenly Father. Tell Him what hurts. Tell Him what you fear. Ask Him for help with the next step.

That is often what my devotion by the ocean comes down to: bringing God what I cannot carry alone and trusting that He hears me.