Yolanda Nelson

I flew into St. Louis in the middle of a severe thunderstorm, and baby… let me tell you, that flight preached a whole sermon.

As we approached the city, the pilot came over the speaker.

“Sit tight. We're going to stay right here until we're cleared to land. The tower says if we can just hold on another 15 to 20 minutes, we'll miss the worst of it.”

So we did exactly what we were told.

We tightened our seatbelts.

We leaned back.

We stayed in position.

And we trusted the voice of the one who could hear the tower.

There was nothing we could do from our seats to change the weather. We couldn't clear the runway. We couldn't navigate around the storm. We couldn't see everything the pilot could see or hear everything the pilot was hearing.

Our job was simply to remain in position and trust.

Then came the announcement we had been waiting for:

“All right, folks. We've been cleared to land.”

And here is the part that preached to me.

The Storm Was Over, But the Shaking Wasn't

Even though the worst of the storm had passed, the turbulence was still there.

From the moment we began our descent until the wheels touched the ground, that plane shook.

There was movement.

There was discomfort.

There was tension.

For a moment, the turbulence was so persistent that you could have wondered whether the storm had really passed at all.

But it had.

What we were experiencing was not the storm itself.

It was the residue of what we had already come through.

And I wonder how many of us are living in that exact place right now.

The storm has passed, but the turbulence remains.

The worst is over, but something in your life is still shaking.

The prayer was answered, but your nerves haven't gotten the message yet.

God brought you through it, but emotionally, mentally, financially, professionally, or even spiritually, you are still feeling the aftershocks.

Sometimes, the circumstances change before we do.

Sometimes, God has already brought us out, but our hearts are still bracing for the next hit.

And if we are not careful, we will mistake the residue of yesterday's storm for evidence that we are still in danger today.

Don't Mistake Turbulence for Trouble

Just because it is still shaking does not mean you are still sinking.

Just because you are experiencing turbulence does not mean you are headed toward destruction.

Sometimes, turbulence is simply evidence that you are moving.

You are descending.

You are transitioning.

You are getting closer to the place where your feet can finally touch solid ground again.

That realization changed the entire flight for me.

The pilot wasn't panicking.

While passengers may have been gripping armrests and watching the windows, the pilot remained focused because he had information we didn't have.

He was listening to the tower.

And there was my word.

When life gets shaky after the storm, keep listening to the Tower.

For me, that Tower is Jesus.

When I cannot see what is ahead, He can.

When I don't understand why things are still shaking, He does.

When my emotions tell me something is wrong, I have to remember what God has already said.

The shaking does not get to override the instruction.

Stay in Position

There was another lesson in that airplane.

Nobody got up and tried to help the pilot land.

Nobody decided the turbulence meant it was time to unfasten their seatbelt and start walking around the cabin.

We stayed seated.

We stayed fastened.

We stayed in position.

There are seasons in life when faith looks less like running and more like remaining.

Remaining faithful.

Remaining prayerful.

Remaining obedient.

Remaining in position, even when everything around you feels uncertain.

We often want God to stop the shaking before we trust Him. But sometimes faith says, “God, even while it is shaking, I believe You know exactly where You are taking me.”

Isaiah 43:2 reminds us:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you…”

Notice that the promise is not that we will never encounter the waters.

The promise is that we will not go through them alone.

You Are in Transition

Maybe that is the word you need today.

You are not necessarily in trouble.

You may simply be in transition.

The turbulence does not mean the promise has been canceled.

The shaking does not mean you heard God wrong.

The discomfort does not mean you are going backward.

And the fact that you have not landed yet does not mean you will not arrive.

Sometimes, the final descent is uncomfortable.

But uncomfortable and unsafe are not always the same thing.

So, if life has been shaking lately, resist the urge to panic.

Remember what God already told you.

Remember what you already survived.

Remember the prayers He already answered.

And most importantly, keep listening to the Tower.

The shaking does not mean failure.

The turbulence does not mean destruction.

You may simply be coming in for your landing.

So hold your peace.

Stay seated.

Keep your faith fastened.

The Tower is still speaking.

And you are going to land this thing safely.

A Final Reflection

There are times when we ask God to calm the storm when what we really need is the faith to trust Him through the turbulence that remains after it.

So ask yourself:

Am I reacting to the storm I am actually in, or to the residue of one God has already brought me through?

Maybe everything shaking around you is not a warning to turn back.

Maybe it is confirmation that you are finally coming in for a landing.

Stay fastened. Stay faithful. Stay in position.

Solid ground may be closer than you think.

For most of my life, I have been the person who figures it out.

Give me a problem, and I will start looking for a solution. Put an obstacle in front of me, and I will search for another way around it. If the door doesn't open, eventually I will start wondering whether I can build my own.

That resourcefulness has served me well. It has helped me navigate change, build a career centered on service, develop meaningful relationships, lead in my community, and continue reinventing myself through different seasons of life.

But lately, I have been reconsidering my definition of strength.

I recently heard a sermon in which my pastor asked a simple question: “What are you hauling?”

The question stayed with me because I realized that I have become very good at carrying things.

And I know I am not alone.

Women carry families, careers, teams, businesses, ministries, dreams, responsibilities, expectations, and sometimes the needs of people who may never fully understand the weight we are carrying.

When you carry things well, people begin to believe you can handle almost anything.

Eventually, you begin to believe it too.

That is when strength can quietly become isolation.

I had to acknowledge something about myself: I don't particularly like hearing the word “no.” Because of that, there have been times when I would rather exhaust every possible solution than ask someone for help and give them the opportunity to tell me no.

I called it independence.

I called it determination.

I called it being resourceful.

And sometimes it was all of those things.

But sometimes, I was simply refusing to ask for help.

There is an important distinction between being capable of carrying something and being required to carry it alone.

That realization has changed the way I think about leadership.

In my professional and community work, I encounter people who are building organizations, businesses, programs, and movements designed to improve the lives of others. We celebrate leaders for their vision, commitment, sacrifice, and ability to keep going when circumstances become difficult.

But I have also watched leaders become exhausted. I have heard too many stories of people experiencing serious health challenges while carrying tremendous responsibility. I have seen people become so committed to the mission that caring for themselves begins to feel secondary.

We have to challenge that thinking.

The mission matters. The organization matters. The people we serve matter.

But the leader matters too.

We cannot continue treating exhaustion as evidence of commitment or self-neglect as proof of leadership.

There is no victory in building something meaningful for everyone else while slowly losing yourself in the process.

This lesson extends beyond physical well being. We also have to protect our confidence.

Recently, I had a conversation with a woman in her seventies. She was stylish, polished, intelligent, and full of presence the kind of woman you notice when she walks into a room. Yet as we talked about the next chapter of her career, I heard something unexpected beneath her words.

She had begun questioning herself.

That conversation stayed with me because life can do that to even the strongest among us.

Rejection can do it.

Loss can do it.

Career transitions can do it.

Age can do it, particularly in a culture that too often associates relevance with youth.

After enough disappointment, even an accomplished woman can find herself quietly asking, “Is it me?”

We have to be careful with that question.

A difficult season should never be given the authority to redefine an entire life.

A closed door does not erase your value. A changing industry does not make your experience irrelevant. Getting older does not mean you have missed your opportunity. And needing help does not mean you are no longer strong.

I am learning that sometimes strength is not pushing harder.

Sometimes strength is choosing to believe in yourself again.

I am also learning that becoming does not have an age limit.

There is a strange expectation placed on women as we grow older. At some point, we are supposed to become satisfied with who we have already been.

I reject that idea.

I can be grateful for everything God has allowed me to accomplish and still believe there is more ahead of me.

I can appreciate the career I have built and still dream new dreams.

I can serve others and still make room for myself.

I can be accomplished and still be a beginner.

I can change direction, write another book, develop a new idea, walk into a new room, create something that did not exist before, or simply admit that I need someone's help.

None of that diminishes the woman I have already become.

It honors the woman I am still becoming.

Perhaps that is why my definition of strength has changed.

Strength is no longer proving that I can carry everything.

Strength is knowing what belongs in my hands and what does not.

It is knowing when to lead and when to listen, when to push and when to rest, when to open a door for someone else and when to graciously walk through a door someone has opened for me.

Strength is confidence without arrogance, independence without isolation, ambition without self-abandonment, and service without losing sight of the person doing the serving.

It is understanding that I can be the helper and still need help.

I don't know exactly what every next chapter of my life will hold, and I am becoming increasingly comfortable with that.

What I do know is that I intend to keep showing up. I intend to keep serving. I intend to keep opening doors and connecting people to opportunities. I intend to keep writing, dreaming, creating, and becoming.

But I also intend to take better care of the woman doing all of those things.

And when I need help, I intend to ask.

So perhaps the question isn't whether you are strong enough to keep carrying what you have been carrying.

Perhaps the better question is the one that challenged me:

What are you hauling that you were never meant to carry alone?

Your next level may not require you to work harder, prove more, or carry more.

It may require you to put something down.

It may require you to ask.

It may require you to receive.

Because the strongest version of you may not be the woman who proves she can carry everything.

She may simply be the woman who finally understands that she doesn't have to.