Readers of the classic comic strip Peanuts will recall Snoopy’s innumerable attempts to write a novel, which always began with the same sentence: “It was a dark and stormy night.” In all the years that the late Charles M. Schulz drew the strip, I don’t believe Snoopy ever finished writing that book, or even progressed very far beyond that ominous opening.

Many fans never knew that Snoopy’s first line wasn’t original. “It was a dark and stormy night” is actually the beginning passage of the novel Paul Clifford, written in 1830 by English author Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton. Bulwer-Lytton, typical of his time, wrote in a flamboyant, verbose style that would never see publication today — the kind of flowery writing we call “purple prose.” In fact, for the last 20 years, the English Department at San Jose State University has sponsored the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a humorous competition in which the entrants attempt to devise the least promising opening line for a non-existent novel.

All of us, in life, have chapters that begin, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Like poor Snoopy, we often find ourselves at a loss to make the rest of the story evolve toward a happy ending. Neither the darkness nor the storm is literal — rather, they are the darkness of anguish, grief, and doubt, and the storms of raging forces about us that we are powerless to control. We cower in tears within the shuddering walls of our lives, covering our ears to shut out the icy wind howling outside our windows and the pounding of the rain against our roofs.

If ever a Bible story were to begin, “It was a dark and stormy night,” it would be the account of Jesus and His disciples on a boat in the middle of Lake Gennesaret (often called the Sea of Galilee) during a violent tempest. The apostles were appalled that Jesus slept in the hold of the boat while they feared for their lives — “Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?” Jesus, arising, silenced the storm with three small words: “Peace, be still.”

Sometimes, on our dark and stormy nights, we, like Jesus’ followers, rail against Him for appearing to disregard our misfortunes. We wonder why He does not arise for us as He did for them, and eliminate our troubles with a quick “Peace, be still.” Perhaps, we reason, He does not care whether we are overtaken and consumed by the circumstances that beset us.

We need to be reminded that our experience may be like that of Elijah: “And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire, a still small voice” (1 Kings 19:11-12). We may have to endure a few whirlwinds, earthquakes, and fires before we’re ready to listen quietly to the voice of God, speaking to us through His word. The dark and stormy night may be preparing us for wisdom yet to come.

The psalmists of the sons of Korah wrote, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though its waters roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with its swelling” (Psalm 46:1-3). Does the earth shake beneath our feet? Yes, sometimes. Do the mountains of our universe crumble into the ocean? Yes, sometimes. Do the waters of stormy life flail around us and terrify us? Yes, sometimes. And in those times, the Spirit that breathes in Scripture says to us in that still small voice, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

The older I get, the fewer things I fear. Some fears lessen because of mature understanding — I know there are no monsters in the bedroom closet. Some fears fade through resignation — I know awful things happen sometimes, but I also realize I can’t change that fact. And yet, the little child within me is still afraid of the dark and stormy night, and the many horrors in it. The adult, however, is learning to listen for the voice that says, “Peace, be still.”