I know what it’s like to have the wind knocked out of you. 

Just this week I hit my head on the corner of the upper cabinets in my laundry room. I had no breath to scream as the pain pulsed, but I have a lovely little knot to show for it. 

My war room, a space nestled in my closet, can tell stories of panic attacks, moments of depression and intense pain. There, my breath has escaped me more times than I can count. 

Years ago, at an upcycled art museum in St. Louis, my oldest slid down what seemed like a normal slide—only to end up on a different floor, far from where my husband and I were. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and, while holding our youngest in my arms, and I did what any mother would: I slid after him. He waited patiently, and only when I held him again did I catch my breath.

And, after traversing the acreage on our farm, I unexpectedly and quite traumatically experienced my youngest drowning in front of me. Rolling like a log in stagnant, knee-high water, I dove in, nearly drowning myself trying to save my baby boy. A friend had to pull us both out to safety.

I know what it’s like to be unable to catch your breath.

Elated about our first pregnancy, my stomach migrated to my throat during an ultrasound when we found our baby girl unattached from my uterus, her heartbeat slowly stopping. Mine completely shattering. Days later, my breath was left on the bathroom floor after an at-home miscarriage completed. 

Each of my subsequent pregnancies brought preterm labor and constant worry. During my pregnancy with my daughter, an ultrasound left me with a 50/50 chance of her survival. She lived—praise the Lord—but my breath nearly didn’t.

The day my mom called to tell me my grandma had lung cancer. The moments after her surgery that wasn’t successful. The silence after she passed. I only found my breath there because sobs required it. 

And, when my health suddenly deteriorated, it stripped away everything I knew myself to be, leaving only a shell of who I was. How do you breathe when you don’t know the next step in life?

I know what it feels like to be completely breathless.

Nearly a year ago, I received an unexpected phone call. I should have anticipated it—I was the one who found the lump and scheduled the mammogram. But with all my other health concerns taking precedence, I hadn’t given much thought to the results. Surely this was one moment where I could breathe again… more easily.

I was driving with my kids when my phone vibrated—it was the doctor’s office, though I couldn’t remember which one. After six years of an intense medical journey, doctor calls usually didn’t faze me. But this time, I couldn’t breathe. The woman on the line told me my mammogram was abnormal. They had seen the lump I’d worried about—and found another, more concerning one. She asked if I could schedule an ultrasound and likely a biopsy. Without hesitation, I said yes.

From that phone call to a month or so later, I lived holding my breath. Life felt paused. Old worries vanished, replaced by new fears. After a decade working at the American Cancer Society, I knew too much. And, stress increased when the ultrasound was inconclusive; a needle biopsy was needed.

Many of my breathless moments remain vivid, each shaping me. But in this one, God’s hand was unmistakable. Like on an airplane, when the oxygen masks drop, you put yours on first. This time, God placed mine first—just for me—without me even knowing.

Before this moment, I had never painted. 

Well, at least not beyond dollar store brushes and cheap craft paint. I hand-sketched designs for my kids and sewed little scrap dolls as a child. Puffy paint and hot glue were always nearby—creativity always found me. But painting? No. And yet, God showed up, as He always does, in the most unexpected ways. What a sense of humor He has.

Not long after that phone call, God very clearly commanded me to drive to Hobby Lobby—pronto. I had been captivated by watercolor tutorial reels to distract myself from heavy thoughts, so when He said to get paints, brushes and canvas paper, I giggled and obeyed.

From that moment on, God and I have been painting together. Like, a lot.

I quickly became a watercolor fanatic, painting cards like they were going out of style. Insomnia produced dozens of new paintings, and whenever worries crept in, God redirected me to Him and the canvas. We explored flowers, houseplants and Scripture passages, watching them come to life as the watercolors blended.

I remember telling Shannon (co-founder of Broken & Beautiful Retreats and my dear friend) that I had all these tiny paintings with no idea what to do with them. “It’s a waste,” I said. She reminded me that God would figure that out—my job was to obey and keep painting.

The peace I found in those painting sessions carried me through my breast cancer scare. Walking into the biopsy room, I knew I could handle whatever came. When the doctors couldn’t find one of the lumps, I saw God’s handiwork—and the tears that followed were pure gratitude. That peace has carried me through multiple trips to the Mayo Clinic for my chronic health conditions, and, just as Shannon had said, those little cards became useful—helping fundraise throughout my medical journey.

Through painting, I learned to notice the simple, essential gift of breath. I’ve found my own breath again.

Breath is essential. Living beings simply cannot live without it.

When Moses asked God His name in Exodus 3:13-14, he was given only consonants—YHWH. The most sacred and distinctive name of God: “I Am Who I Am.” Biblical scholars note that YHWH itself reflects the sound of breath—a life-giving exhale in every utterance.

Our God, whose very name is the sound of breath, breathed life into us. And one day, when we meet Him face to face, the breath we know here will cease—but eternal breath will only be beginning.

All of life reflects the power of breath. The wind, earth’s own exhale, carries seeds to cultivate the land. It lifts birds into flight. And it cools us on a hot, humid Kentucky summer day. But the wind tends to have a mind of its own; maybe it too experiences free will. Take me out on a boat on a stormy day and let’s see what wind can make happen. Praise the Lord we don’t have to experience a stormy boat on the water to know the power of wind; we can reflect on it in Mark 4:35-41 (NIV). 

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

Imagine what the disciples were feeling—holding their breath in the chaos. I know I would have. After a long day of teaching and ministry, they set out across the Sea of Galilee, a body of water known for sudden storms. Jesus knew the Good News was needed on the other side where the Gentiles were, so they braved the waters—and, as if on cue, the waves began to rage.

I know the sudden onslaught of chaos all too well—life is going great, and then it isn’t: a phone call, an email, a storm you didn’t see coming. I suspect that’s how the disciples felt—though while the waves swamped their boat and lives were at stake, Jesus slept through it. In moments like these, we often face a choice: put on our scuba gear and try to ride the waves alone, or humbly recognize we need God. Even with Him in the boat, the disciples struggled—so give yourself grace when you do, too.

Jesus rested in the stern—the part of the boat usually reserved for control—while the storm raged around them. His peace in the chaos is a vivid reminder of God’s power: with just a word, He silences the storm, just as He spoke creation into being. Even when we feel like we’re drowning, His calm prevails.

When the Wind Ran Out of Breath

I had the chance to dive deeply into this passage for a podcast episode Shannon and I hosted on the Broken & Beautiful Podcast. One of my favorite ways to study Scripture is by comparing translations—usually a word or phrase will stand out. But when I read the Message version of Mark 4:35-41, I was speechless. Unlike most translations that title it “Jesus Calms the Storm,” the MSG version simply calls it “The Wind Ran Out of Breath.” Those words captured the moment so vividly—the chaos of the storm, the disciples’ fear and Jesus’ calm authority—and they opened my eyes to something I hadn’t noticed before.

Our Savior holds a peace so deep that He can patiently wait—sleep even—while the storm rages on. He has all day; after all, He created them! We may feel unseen, overlooked or battered by life’s chaos. But God sees it all from a whole different perspective. He wants us to discover His inner peace amid the storms, to rest fully even when the world feels crushing, and to trust Him that completely. The question is: do we? Do I?

This past year, Mark 4:35-41 has been an anthem in my life. The disciples’ fear, the raging waves and Jesus’ calm authority—I’ve felt it all, holding my breath in moments of uncertainty. As God and I explored my newfound painting skills, I felt compelled to capture this story visually: a piece reflecting His presence in the storm, the stilling of chaos and the life-giving breath that carries us through—even when we feel like we can’t catch our own.

So, I want to help. I want you to be able to help. And together, I believe we can.

That’s why I’m offering prints of one of the most important—and most challenging—paintings God and I have created to date. Every brushstroke was born in the thick of a hard season of holding my breath, trusting Him and learning to let go. And, as I continue to paint with Him, I still struggle, still hold my breath at times—but He’s faithful every step of the way. Perfection isn’t possible (I even had to tell myself that as I redid parts of this painting multiple times) but it’s not the goal—a deeper faith in the Lord is.

All proceeds of print purchases directly support the Broken & Beautiful Retreats scholarship fund—making a way for women to encounter the rest, renewal and peace in God that they desperately need. Learn more here.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you—for seeing the story in these brushstrokes, for believing in the ministry of retreat, and for helping another woman encounter the God who stills the waves. And for seeing me. As you can imagine, sharing our own storms is vulnerable and downright terrifying. But, with God, anything is possible including a peace that makes no sense in the middle of a life that feels like it’s crashing in around you.

May this piece remind you daily that the One who commands the wind and sea is the same One who breathes life and peace into you. Take a deep breath, friends. Jesus has got this.