Finding Grace in the Darkest Storms
Life has a wicked sense of humor. One minute, you're cruising along on smooth seas, and the next, you're caught in a hurricane—sometimes literally. But here's the thing about storms: they're great teachers. They'll knock you flat, soak your pride, and leave you with the choice to either cry or laugh. Personally, I prefer to laugh, even if it starts as a slightly unhinged chuckle in the middle of chaos.
I learned this during Hurricane Harvey, a time when Texas transformed into an unwilling set for Waterworld. For a terrifying moment, I found myself in a swampy deluge, the kind of current that takes no prisoners. Imagine sharing the murky waters with fire ants huddled together in red mounds, looking for somewhere to land (my skin), and Fighting the violent surge was useless—an exercise in futility and exhaustion. Instead, I did what any sane (read: desperate) person would do. I stopped fighting. I flipped onto my back, stared at the churning sky, and floated dead-man style. In that moment of surrender, a thought hit me, sharp and clear: At least my kids aren't here to see this mess. Thank you for that, universe.
That gratitude was my lifeline. I meditated there in the pouring rain, breathing deeply despite the chaos around me. I wasn't fighting for stability anymore. I was harmonizing with the current, riding the storm instead of trying to beat it. That brief reprieve gave me the energy to swim to safety. And yes, I laughed later—half from relief, half from the absurdity of the situation.
Stability vs. Harmony: The Rip Current Analogy
That experience taught me the difference between stability and harmony. Stability is what we crave: a predictable, unshakable ground where everything is in our control. But let's be honest, life is not interested in playing by your rules. Try to control every variable, and life will gleefully toss you into a rip current to prove otherwise.
Harmony, though—that's a game-changer. Harmony means flowing with the chaos, adjusting to the circumstances, and finding peace in what is rather than what you think should be. It's like realizing that instead of battling the rip current, you should let it carry you out a bit before finding your way back to shore. Surrender is not defeat. It's strategy.
Meditating in the Storm
You don't need a hurricane to practice this. (Trust me, I don't recommend it.) A daily moment of quiet—call it meditation, call it breathing, call it zoning out—is the key. Here's the formula:
1. Sit still.
2. Breathe deeply.
3. Notice what's around you without judgment.
4. If your brain throws a tantrum (it will), let it, then gently redirect it back to your breath.
Start small. Five minutes. Maybe three if life feels extra stormy. Build from there. Over time, you'll notice that the things that used to make you want to scream are suddenly less potent. You'll learn to pause, breathe, and maybe even laugh at how ridiculous it all is.
Tickling the Funny Bone in Dark Times
Dark moments often come with a punchline if you're brave enough to look for it. When I was floating in that muddy muck, meditating on the absurdity of my predicament, I found humor in my relief that my kids weren't there to witness my flailing. It's not that the danger wasn't real; it was that life's comedy kept me from sinking under the weight of fear.
Laughing doesn't mean you don't take things seriously. It means you understand the joke—that life's trials, big or small, are temporary, and your resilience is the punchline.
Grace in the Giggle
Anyone can find this balance. You don't need to be a spiritual guru or a hurricane survivor. It's as simple as pausing to tickle your funny bone, even when life feels unbearably heavy. Those quiet moments of gratitude, those bursts of laughter at the absurd, are what keep us afloat.
So, when the storms come—and they will—remember this: stop fighting. Float. Breathe. Say your thanks, even if they're small. And if you can, giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. Life may be unpredictable, but humor is the constant that keeps us human.
Tickle you now, my friends. You'll thank yourself later.