because the wind right now feels relentless.
It feels like unrest in Minneapolis. It feels like the reported abduction of Nancy Guthrie. It feels like the reality that children go missing every day in our country. It feels like the ongoing loss of innocent and helpless unborn lives. It feels like families torn apart by political, emotional, and spiritual division. The headlines feel heavy. The divisions feel personal. The sorrow feels constant.
The instinct is to react with outrage or to shut down completely. To argue harder. To despair faster. To try to control what is far beyond me. But Father Sliney’s questions cut through the noise: What is God asking of me in this situation? How does God want me to respond with His love right now?
I cannot stop every act of violence. I cannot prevent every tragedy. I cannot heal every fractured relationship. I cannot calm every headline. I cannot change the wind.
But I can change the sails.
For me, one of the first and most powerful adjustments is prayer. Prayer is not passive. It is not avoidance. It is an intentional turning of the heart toward God when everything feels unstable. It is asking Him to bring justice where there is injustice, protection where there is vulnerability, healing where there is trauma. It is placing names and faces before Him instead of just scrolling past them.
And prayer must move into action.
One thing I know I can do is support organizations that walk alongside children who have experienced abuse and trauma. I cannot rescue every child. But I can help those who are already doing that work. That is why 100 percent of the proceeds from my book sales go directly to organizations that support children in crisis. It is one small but concrete way I can change the sails. Writing stories. Selling books. Turning creativity into compassion in action.
Changing the sails might also mean refusing to let anger harden into hatred. It might mean advocating for the unborn with both conviction and tenderness. It might mean choosing conversation over contempt within my own family. It might mean guarding my heart from cynicism when it would be easier to give up.
The wind will keep blowing. The question is not whether the storm exists. The question is how I will respond inside it.
Changing the sails may look small. A whispered prayer. A donation. A book purchased that becomes support for a child who needs safety and healing. A gentler tone in a hard conversation. But even a slight shift in direction can change the course of a journey.
I cannot change the wind. But by God’s grace, I can adjust the sails of my heart toward mercy, truth, protection of the vulnerable, and love. And in a storm like this, that is not small at all.