The Lighthouse Keeper of Moelfre

On the night of October 27, 1859, a hurricane-force storm slammed into the Welsh coast at Moelfre. The Royal Charter, a clipper ship carrying 450 passengers home from the Australian gold rush, broke apart in the surf. Waves the height of houses swallowed the wreckage. The earth itself seemed to give way as cliffs crumbled into the churning sea.

But on shore, a man named Charles remained at his post. He was the local coastguard, and through the howling darkness he organized villagers into rescue lines, wading chest-deep into water that had already claimed hundreds. Twenty-one passengers survived that night because one steady presence refused to be moved while everything around him was falling apart.

That is the picture the psalmist paints of the Almighty. Mountains collapse. Oceans rage. Nations roar like breakers against rock. And God stands unmoved — not distant, but planted right in the middle of His people. "God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day."

Notice when the help arrives: at dawn. Not before the storm. Not instead of the storm. But precisely when the first light breaks, the Most High acts. He shatters the spear. He silences the chaos.

Whatever is roaring around you this week, the God who stills oceans has not stepped away from His post.