When the Storm Reminds Us Who’s in Control

There’s something sobering about living through a winter storm instead of just watching one on radar.

Many of us have been inside for days now. Roads iced over. Schools and offices closed. Routines suspended. For some, it’s been inconvenient and disorienting. For others, it’s been far more serious. Friends across Nashville and North Mississippi are still without power or heat, doing their best to stay warm and safe while waiting for restoration crews and clear roads.

I’ve been stuck at home all week too. Honestly, it hasn’t been too bad for us. We’ve had power, water, heat, and internet, which means I’ve been able to work, keep up with routines, and stay connected. That’s something I’m deeply grateful for. But even in that relative comfort, the storm has been a reminder of how quickly life can be disrupted.

We saw this storm coming. Radar maps lit up. Meteorologists gave timelines. Group texts started buzzing about milk, bread, and generators. We prepared. We planned. We adjusted schedules and made contingency plans, doing everything we could to stay ahead of what was coming.

And then the ice hit.

Power lines fell. Roads became impassable. Schools and offices shut down. Plans collapsed. The world slowed, whether we wanted it to or not. In moments like this, something becomes painfully clear: we were never as in control as we thought we were.

And strangely, that reminder can be a gift.

When Nature Pulls Back the Curtain

Ice storms have a way of pulling back the curtain on how thin our sense of stability really is.

Electricity (something we barely think about) can disappear in minutes. Travel (something we assume is always possible) can shut down completely. Comforts like heating (something we treat as normal) can suddenly feel fragile.

Most days, our lives feel predictable. We build routines, structures, and expectations around that predictability. But storms expose how quickly the foundation can shift.

Scripture has always acknowledged this reality. When God speaks to Job, He asks:

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding." Job 38:4 (ESV)

It’s not a harsh rebuke. It’s a holy reminder. God is gently pulling Job, and us, out of the illusion that we are the architects of reality. The world is vast, complex, and held together by a hand far greater than ours.

Storms make that truth hard to ignore.

The Illusion of Control We Carry

Most days, it feels like we’re steering our lives.

We set goals. We map out careers. We plan vacations, budgets, family schedules, and long-term dreams. And none of that is wrong. Scripture praises wisdom, diligence, and preparation.

But storms remind us how quickly those plans can unravel.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” Proverbs 16:9 (ESV)

This verse doesn’t discourage planning. It reframes it. It reminds us that planning is participation, not sovereignty. We make our plans, but God is the One who ultimately guides where those plans land.

When ice knocks out a power grid or a fallen tree blocks a road, we’re confronted with a humbling truth: we live in a world we influence, but do not control.

And maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be.

Fragile Systems, Steady God

Storms reveal the fragility of the systems we rely on.

The grid can fail. The internet can go down. The roads can close. Our routines can fall apart overnight.

But storms also reveal something far more steady.

God does not flicker. God does not lose power. God does not need a restoration crew.

The psalmist writes:

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1 (ESV)

When everything feels unstable, God remains unshaken. When our plans stall, His purposes keep moving forward. When our world feels small and vulnerable, His presence feels near and constant.

Nature reminds us that while our systems are temporary, God’s faithfulness is not.

Learning to Live with Open Hands

So what does it look like to live with this kind of humility and trust?

It doesn’t mean abandoning responsibility. Noah still built the ark. Joseph still planned for famine. Proverbs still calls us to wisdom. We’re invited to prepare. But we’re not invited to cling.

Living with open hands means planning wisely, while recognizing that God may reroute us. It means working diligently, while trusting God with outcomes. It means holding dreams, expectations, and fears gently, knowing God’s perspective is broader than ours.

Jesus spoke into this tension when He said,

“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.” Matthew 6:34 (ESV)

That’s not a call to passivity. It’s a call to presence. We steward today and trust God with tomorrow. We prepare for storms, but we anchor our peace somewhere deeper than preparation.

Storms as Invitations, Not Interruptions

It’s easy to see storms as disruptions to “real life.” But what if they are invitations?

Invitations to slow down when we refuse to rest. Invitations to notice how dependent we are. Invitations to reconnect - with God, with family, with stillness.

When the world pauses, we’re given space we rarely choose for ourselves. Unexpected quiet. Unexpected family time. Unexpected reflection.

Storms interrupt our plans, but they do not interrupt God’s presence. In fact, they often make His presence easier to notice.

So let me ask you…

As I ask myself the same questions:

• Where have I been assuming more control than I actually have?

• How do I respond emotionally and spiritually when my plans are disrupted?

• What does it look like for me to plan wisely but trust deeply?

• Where might God be inviting me to release control this week?

• How can I anchor my peace in God’s steadiness rather than my circumstances?

A Closing Word for Fellow Pilgrims

Ice storms remind us of something we forget on clear days: our world is fragile, but our God is not.

Power will fail. Plans will change. Roads will close. Life will surprise us. And through it all, God remains steady, faithful, and near.

We are not as in control as we think, and that is not a threat. It is an invitation. An invitation to trust the One who truly holds the world together.

So as the ice melts and routines return, may we carry this gentle humility with us. May we plan wisely, prepare faithfully, and trust deeply. And may every storm quietly remind us who is really in control.

Until the journey is complete,

Jonathan Pilgrim.

P.S. This week, identify one plan, fear, or outcome you’ve been gripping tightly. Offer it to God in prayer and practice holding it with open hands. Let the storm’s reminder deepen your trust in the One who never wavers.