"Don't you care?" is the question I've whispered at 3 a.m. more times than I'd like to admit. It's the prayer that feels more like a hostile accusation than anything else. Jesus asleep on a cushion while we're drowning is exactly how God feels when the anxiety won't stop. He's checked out, distant, unbothered by what's destroying us. The disciples were tough—sun-worn fishermen with salt in their hair and hands as rough as rope. If they were panicking, then Mark's description of a "great windstorm" is an understatement. And what does Jesus do? He doesn't wait for them to get their theology right or their breathing under control. He wakes up and handles the threat. Jesus saves them while they're failing. I've catastrophized meetings that went fine, emails that were never sent, and conversations that never happened. The storm in my head was entirely imaginary, but my body and soul didn't know the difference. I still woke up exhausted. When Jesus says, "Silence! Be still!", he uses a Greek word that appears elsewhere when he silences demons. Mark wants us to see that the chaos in our lives, whether it's waves crashing over the bow or the spiral of thoughts crashing over our minds at 3 a.m., is more than cause and effect. It's evidence that our world is invaded by a hostile force. And so, Jesus is the right person to approach, even if it seems like he's not engaged. The disciples wanted the storm to go away. Jesus wanted their misplaced fear to go away. He asks them why, after all they've seen, they still lack faith. "They were terrified," Mark says. But terrified of what? They moved from panic about what the storm might do to an unsettling awe at who was next to them. We never graduate from fear. We redirect it.