You Will Sail Again
There are seasons in this walk of faith when simply staying afloat is victory.
You have endured. You have prayed. You have stood through a long and grueling battle. And yet, though you survived, you find yourself unable to move forward. The horizon seems distant. You are not defeated, but neither are you advancing.
You ask quietly, “What happened?” “Why am I just standing still?” “Are my sails torn from the fierce winds I encountered?” “Why is there no forward motion like before the storm?”
We are taught, and rightly so, that stagnation does not please our Father. So we often assume that forward motion equals faith and progress, and that is true. However, there is another truth we must not overlook.
In Ephesians 6:10–14, Paul writes: “Put on the whole armour of God… that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore…”
Notice the wording, having done all, to stand. Then he repeats it, “Stand therefore.” There are seasons when standing is an act of obedience. Paul understood this. His life was marked by advancement, but also by endurance. Imprisonments. Beatings. Shipwrecks. Delays. Moments when all he could do was remain planted until reinforcement and restoration came.
In ancient naval warfare, an enemy did not always seek to sink a ship. A more strategic move was to cut the sails or block the wind. The vessel remained intact, and the crew survived. But without wind, the ship could not fulfill its purpose. It drifted, preserved yet stalled.
So it is in spiritual warfare. If the adversary cannot take you under, he will attempt to wear you down. If he cannot rob you of salvation, he will try to exhaust your strength. After prolonged grief, disappointment, and unseen resistance from intense spiritual warfare, the child of God may whisper, “I am still here, but I have no wind left.”
That is not failure. That is fatigue.
Surviving the Storm Without Losing the Call
In Acts chapter 27, Paul, though fully in the will of God, was caught in a violent storm called Euroclydon. The ship was torn apart. He survived by clinging to broken pieces of the vessel and eventually landed on the Isle of Melita, where he remained for three months. Paul’s obedience was not marked by progress, but by endurance.
I remember our own Euroclydon. During a visit back to Oklahoma, we faced a storm I never imagined. We were stretched thin, sleep-deprived, navigating burdens too heavy to describe. The enemy screamed that things would never be normal again, that the anointing would never return as before. The adversary even twisted Scripture, trying to press my spirit into a bondage of depression from which I had previously been delivered. We were not advancing; we were just standing. But in the middle of that storm, I heard the Lord whisper, “I am guarding the vessel. You are safe and not alone.” That changed everything. I learned that standing is not defeat. It is often the highest form of obedience.
The soldier clothed in God’s armor is not always rushing forward in a charge. Sometimes he plants his feet, shield raised, helmet secured, sword steady, and refuses to surrender. Likewise, a battered ship in violent seas often makes little progress. It survives. It holds position until the wind shifts.
As we rode out our storm, I slowly sensed another whisper from the Lord: “I know you are exhausted, but you are still mine. The wind of my Spirit will blow again.”
When Heaven Sends the Wind Again
As in nature, the wind cannot be manufactured. It must be sent from God. So it is with spiritual momentum. When sails have been torn or wind has been blocked, restoration from God Almighty is required. Joy must be restored. Strength must be renewed. Breath must return. And it is promised.
In Isaiah 40:29, we read: “He giveth power to the faint, and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.” God does not wait for His people to recover alone. He meets them in depletion. There is a holy stillness that is not lukewarmness. It is mercy. In quiet waters, God repairs what warfare has torn. He restores what grief has drained. He sends oil for wounds and strength for weary limbs. You do not need a new calling. You do not need a different assignment. You need repaired sails. You need renewed strength. You need the wind of the Holy Ghost to blow again.
If you cannot move forward right now, take heart. Holy stillness does not mean stagnation. Waiting does not mean abandonment. To stand is not disobedience. God is often closest to His vessels when they are quiet on the water, awaiting His breath.
Let me testify. The God who commands the wind did not forget where we were stalled. He knew exactly where we were. In His perfect timing, He sent the breath from Heaven that we needed. And we are sailing again, not by our strength, not by human effort. We are guided by the Spirit of God, who never once lost sight of our destination.
And I encourage you today: You are still God’s vessel. Preserved. Watched over. Guarded in full armor.
Perfectly positioned for the moment when Heaven breathes upon you, and you move forward once more in victory. The Lord sent me to remind you: You will sail again.