Day 139

2 Samuel 3–4 | Acts 27:27–44 | Psalm 59

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Some days feel like everything is breaking loose.

Loyalties are shifting. Alliances fracturing. Storms howling. Anchors failing.

That’s what today’s readings feel like—like watching stability unravel thread by thread.

In 2 Samuel 3–4, there’s political upheaval. Abner defects. Ish-bosheth is murdered. David’s kingdom is growing—but not through clean hands or peaceful means.

In Acts 27, Paul is still on a ship in a storm—now in its 14th day. The sailors have lost all hope. The crew is throwing cargo overboard. They’ve cut the lifeboat loose. They haven’t eaten in days. And the waves just keep coming.

It’s chaos. Both in the palace and in the storm.

But the most striking part?

God isn’t panicked.

And neither is Paul.

The Calm in the Chaos

Paul stands up in the middle of the gale and says what no one expects:

“Not one of you will lose a single hair from his head.”

Then he took bread, gave thanks to God… and began to eat. (Acts 27:34–35)

Bread. In the storm.

Gratitude. While the ship creaks.

Hope. While everything is breaking loose.

Because Paul knows something the storm can’t undo:

God had already spoken.

And when God says you will testify in Rome, no shipwreck can cancel it.

When the World Feels Like 2 Samuel

Maybe your life feels more like the palace drama of 2 Samuel.

Power struggles. Broken trust. Confusing motives. Collateral damage.

People doing what’s right in their own eyes—again.

And yet, quietly, God is still building David’s kingdom.

Not through his strategies.

Not because others are noble.

But because God is sovereign even over the mess.

Even when people’s hearts are impure, God’s hand is intact.

When I Can’t Control the Waves

I don’t control the storm around me.

I don’t control how others act, respond, or spin the story.

But I do control one thing:

Where I put my anchor.

Psalm 59 is David’s anchor while enemies circle:

“But I will sing of your strength…

I will sing aloud of your steadfast love in the morning.” (Psalm 59:16)

Not after deliverance.

Not once the storm subsides.

In the middle of it.

Because faith doesn’t wait for calm skies to sing.

It sings in spite of them.

The Coffeehouse and the Test

A few nights ago, over coffee with Jason, I was naming storms again—listing everything that’s gone wrong since the saw, since the surgery, since the news of the job loss.

And then Jason said something he’s said before but landed harder than I expected this time:

“Yeah… that happened. But it’s time to move on.”

Not in a dismissive way. In a loving, accountability-driven, iron-sharpens-iron kind of way.

He reminded me how far I’ve come. How much I’ve carried and how much I’ve been carried.

And how all of this—every storm, every silence, every scar—might just be God’s test of my faithfulness.

Not a punishment. A proving.

And sometimes we need a brother to say it out loud.

To lift our eyes when we’ve been staring too long at the waves.

When the Ship Breaks Apart

What kind of God prepares breakfast in a storm?

The kind who steadies David through betrayal.

Who silences enemies with mercy.

Who lets the ship break apart…

But not the people on board.

Because sometimes the thing you’re on won’t make it to shore.

But you will.

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Lord, I confess—I want the chaos to stop before I give thanks. But You invite me to worship in the wind. To trust in the unknown. To break bread in the middle of the storm. So help me drop anchor in You today. When alliances shift and storms rage, let my faith hold fast—not in what I can see, but in who You’ve promised to be. Thank You for brothers through whom You remind me what matters, and for storms that prove You still speak. Amen.