Jesus in the Darkness

originally published in Arise Daily Devotions

Breathe in. Count. One, two… now out. Again—deeper this time. One, two, three, four… out.
Panic.
I gasped for air. My chest tightened. I tried to recall the Scriptures I had memorized for moments just like this, but the words were buried under my racing thoughts: What if? What about…? Why?

Nothing was working.

And then, in desperation—what I should have done hundreds, maybe thousands of times before—I whispered into the darkness:
“Jesus, I know You are there. I’m terrified. I can’t feel You. I can’t breathe. I can’t see… Jesus, please come into my darkness with me.”

Everything changed.

My breathing slowed. The pain eased. A calm settled over me like a soft blanket. I wasn’t alone anymore.

There’s a certain spot on the couch where my family would sit beside me, taking turns during my hardest days to hold my hand and offer me comfort. That night, Jesus came just like they had—He sat with me and brought peace that touched every sense, quieted every fear, and gently rocked me to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, I questioned whether it had all been a dream. Throughout my faith journey, I had invited Jesus into my cluelessness as a parent, my desperation to be a good wife, and the daily challenges of managing a business. But anxiety—that had always felt like my battle to fight alone. Instead of acknowledging the struggle, I spent a lifetime bullying myself whenever anxiety surfaced. During seasons when it intensified and I could no longer reason my way through, I turned to an overflowing schedule and copious amounts of caffeine to try and quiet the noise. But eventually, my strategy backfired. By the time I realized anxiety had taken the driver’s seat, there was no space left for me—not even as a passenger. I felt tied up in the trunk, duct tape over my mouth, helpless and unheard. 

But the morning after I finally invited Jesus into that storm—the one I had tried to manage on my own for so long—something shifted. The heaviness that usually clung to me like morning fog had lifted. The air felt clear, like the sky after a long, violent storm. For the first time in a while, I sensed hope. And that hope marked the beginning of healing.

When we invite Jesus into the dark places—into grief, illness, fear, or loss—He comes. He doesn’t always arrive in the way we expect, but He always comes in the way we need.

The Gospels tell of a time when Jesus calmed a raging storm. The disciples, in fear for their lives, woke Him. Jesus rebuked the wind and waves—and there was a great calm. But then came the question:
“Why are you so afraid? Where is your faith?”

That night, Jesus calmed the storm of my anxiety, while beginning a deeper work. My faith had been buried—under disappointments, beneath good works and striving. I thought I had to endure suffering to be faithful. Instead, Jesus showed me that suffering had uncovered a faith I didn’t realize I still had.

Scripture:
"Then He arose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm." — Matthew 8:26 (NKJV)