Anybody who has lived through a Florida hurricane knows what happens in the hours before it hits.
The neighbor you only wave at suddenly shows up with an extra sheet of plywood. Somebody’s cousin with a chainsaw starts making the rounds. The church opens its doors. The lady down the road who’s lived alone for years gets three phone calls asking if she wants to ride it out with someone. Folks who barely spoke all summer end up sharing a generator, a pot of coffee, and a long night on the floor of somebody’s back room.
I’ve always thought there’s something holy about that. Not the storm. The way people pull their chairs closer when it comes.
We were never meant to carry it alone
Somewhere along the way, a lot of us picked up the idea that needing people is weakness. That the strong ones handle it quietly. That asking for help means you didn’t have enough faith.
But that isn’t what Scripture says. “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). Not “bear your own burdens and smile about it.” One another’s. God built His people to lean on each other. When you let someone help carry your load, you’re not failing at faith. You’re living it out exactly the way He designed.
And when you pick up someone else’s load, even for an afternoon, you’re doing the work of Christ with your own two hands.
The third strand is what holds it together
Ecclesiastes says, “Two are better than one… For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–10). And then it adds a line I’ve loved for years: “a threefold cord is not quickly broken” (4:12).
Two people holding on to each other is good. But two people holding on to each other and to God? That’s the cord that doesn’t snap when the wind picks up.
Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: people alone will eventually run out. We get tired. We say the wrong thing. We have our own storms going on. Even the most loving family, the most faithful church, the best neighbors can only carry so much. When God is the center, though, we’re not just pouring from our own cups. We’re all drawing from the same Well, and that Well doesn’t run dry.
What happens when we gather around Him
Jesus made a promise that I hold on to: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20).
In the midst. Right in the middle. Not watching from a distance while we figure it out. When we come together in His name, in a hospital waiting room, at a kitchen table after a funeral, on the floor of a dark room while the wind howls outside, He is right there in the center of us.
That changes how a hard night feels. The storm is still loud. The bills are still due. The diagnosis is still real. But you’re not facing it as a scattered handful of scared people. You’re facing it as a circle, with Him in the middle.
Five ways to come together with God at the center
Pray first, then plan. When someone you love gets hard news, it’s tempting to jump straight to casseroles and schedules. Those matter. But start by bowing your heads together, even for one minute. It sets the center before the work begins.
Show up without being asked. Most people in need won’t call. They don’t want to be a burden. So knock anyway. Drop off the meal. Mow the yard. Sit in the waiting room. Presence speaks louder than “let me know if you need anything.”
Let yourself be helped. This one is hard for a lot of us, me included. But when you refuse help, you take away someone else’s chance to obey God. Say yes to the meal. Say yes to the ride. Say thank you, and let it be enough.
Put the differences down. In a real crisis, nobody checks which church you go to or how you voted before they help you board a window. Let your hard seasons do the same thing for your heart. The early church “were together, and had all things common” (Acts 2:44). Unity isn’t agreeing on everything. It’s caring for each other anyway.
Keep coming back after the storm passes. The casseroles stop after a couple of weeks, but the grief and the rebuilding don’t. Set a reminder to check in again in a month. That’s often when people need you most.
He is our refuge, together
“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1). Notice it says our. Not just mine. Not just yours. Ours.
Whatever storm you’re in right now, or whatever storm somebody near you is in, I pray you’ll pull your chairs a little closer today. Make the call. Knock on the door. Bow your heads together. And keep Him right there in the middle, where He’s promised to be.
The wind may still blow. But a threefold cord is not quickly broken.
With so much love,
Momma J 🤍
If you want to learn to hear God’s quiet leading in the middle of the noise, Still, Small Voice walks you through it one gentle step at a time. And if you’d like a daily rhythm in the Word that keeps Him at the center of every season, Grace Unfolding takes you through the Bible in a year (use code GRACE20 for 20% off). It’s even sweeter read alongside someone you love. Come say hi on Instagram @mommajscozycottage.
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