Right now, I’m on a Disney cruise in the Caribbean, with endless blue in every direction, and the ocean is angry. For days, the swells have hit harder than usual. Crew who’ve sailed these waters for over a decade say even they can feel the difference. At night, it’s relentless, and the ship rolls, creaking under the moon’s invisible pull. Lying in the dark, you sense every movement. It hits you how small we are, and how little control we actually have. History is littered with souls the sea has claimed in storms no one could tame.
That same helplessness slammed home when I read about the Strait of Hormuz. This narrow throat of water, barely 21 miles wide at its tightest, carries roughly 20% of the world’s oil and a huge share of liquefied natural gas. Right now, in March 2026, it’s a war zone. Iran has effectively closed it amid escalating conflict with the U.S. and Israel. Hundreds of tankers are reported to be sitting idle on both sides, waiting for safe passage that may not come.
Qatar’s massive LNG facilities, supplying about 20% of global demand, have reportedly taken hits, declared force majeure, and shut down production that could take years to restore. Fertilizer prices, vital for our ranch and global food supply, have reportedly surged 30–40% as Gulf exports stall and downstream plants in India, Bangladesh, and beyond shut down. Farmers and ranchers worldwide now face delayed planting, potential shortages, and skyrocketing costs. All from one fragile stretch of sea.
Here I sway in “paradise,” feeling the ship’s unpredictable motion, while somewhere else, another body of water dictates energy prices, food security, and entire economies. It drives the point home: we control so little. Not the waves. Not geopolitics. Not the storms that crash into our lives.
But that’s exactly where faith steps in. The Bible doesn’t promise calm seas; it promises a God who walks on them. In Mark 4, Jesus sleeps through a raging storm while His disciples panic. They wake Him: “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He rebukes the wind and waves, “Quiet! Be still!” and they obey. The disciples are left awestruck: “Who is this? Even the wind and waves obey him!”
My mom has always said something simple and hard: Everyone suffers. One day, I will too. Do most parents shield their kids from that truth? Maybe, but she certainly doesn’t shield us from the hardships life will bring. Hiding it doesn’t change reality. It can either forge deeper trust in God or erode it.
Look at Job. He had it all, health, family, wealth, and deeply loved God. Then everything shattered: his children died, his body was ravaged, and his possessions were gone. Friends insisted he must have sinned. Job wrestled, questioned, and even raged, but still never cursed God. He clung to faith amid the “why.”
In the end, God spoke from the storm, revealing His vast wisdom and power: “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” Job humbled himself, repented in dust and ashes, and God restored him with twice as much as he had before. Not because Job earned it, but because God is sovereign, meaning that God has the ultimate power over all things.
So when the swells come, here on this ship, or in the headlines, or in my own story, I want to remember: I’m not steering. But I’m held. By the God who commands the waves.
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About Future Voices
Future Voices is a Sunday-morning column in The Dallas Express in which young Texans share how faith and perseverance shape their lives. These stories remind readers that God often speaks through the honesty and courage of the next generation.
