What to Do in the In Between

There's a particular kind of silence that follows a mountaintop moment, or worse, a mountaintop season. You've just experienced something extraordinary — maybe it was a breakthrough in your business, a clear word from God, a season of momentum that felt almost impossible to contain. And then, almost without warning, the noise dies down. The crowd disperses. The results stop coming in. And you're left sitting in a boat that feels smaller than it did before — with wind you weren't expecting and waves that don't seem to care what you just experienced.

This is the in between. And for most leaders, this is where faith is either forged or fractured.

"Later That Night..."

Matthew 14 opens with one of the most breathtaking scenes in the Gospels — the feeding of five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish. Think about what the disciples had just witnessed. The impossible, made ordinary. Leftovers from a miracle. It would have been hard not to walk away from that hillside feeling unstoppable.

And yet — immediately after — Jesus does something telling. He dismisses the crowd, sends the disciples ahead in the boat, and goes up on a mountainside alone to pray. (Matthew 14:22-23)

"Later that night, he was there alone, and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it. Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake." — Matthew 14:23-25 (NIV)

Two time markers: Later that night. And shortly before dawn.

The miracle happens in verse 25. But everything that matters — everything that shapes who these disciples are — happens in the hours between those two phrases. The in between.

The Boat Is Not Neutral

For these men, the boat wasn't just a vessel. It was their livelihood. Their identity. The thing they had returned to every morning their whole working lives. When the sky turned dark and the water turned hostile, being in the boat was the only reasonable thing to do.

The boat represents your comfort zone — but more than that, it represents the thing you fall back on when the uncertainty becomes too much.

For a leader, the boat might be a strategy you've already proven works. Or a role you've already mastered. Or a story you have been telling - a good one, a powerful testimony - but it's your comfort zone. Maybe it's a version of yourself you've carefully constructed — competent, controlled, in command. The boat isn't bad. It's just not where God is calling you next.

The question worth sitting with is:

What is the boat that's keeping you from fully stepping into what you believe God is calling you to?

The Gung-Ho Moment

Here's what we often miss when we read the water-walking account: Peter didn't step out of the boat because of what he needed, he stepped out of the boat inspired.

He had just watched Jesus feed thousands from almost nothing. The faith in his chest at that moment must have felt like something close to invincible. So when he saw a figure walking toward them on the water, he didn't freeze. He leaned out and called: "Lord, if it's you, tell me to come to you on the water." (Matthew 14:28)

And Jesus said one word: "Come."

Peter climbed out of the boat. And for a moment — a real, extraordinary, history-making moment — he walked on water.

John Ortberg, in his now-classic book If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get Out of the Boat, makes a point that's worth anchoring here: of all twelve disciples, Peter was the only one who ever walked on water. The other eleven stayed in the boat. Safe. Reasonable. Dry. And unremarkable. Whatever you think of what happened next, Peter at least got to experience something none of the others did — the impossible, from the inside.

The question Ortberg keeps returning to is the same one Jesus asked from the water: In what ways is God telling you, as he told Peter, "Come"?

The Hours Between

But here is the part of the story that doesn't make the inspirational posters.

Between the miracle on the hillside and the appearance of Jesus on the water, the disciples spent hours being battered. The wind was against them. The waves were working against the hull. And Jesus — the one who had just done the impossible — was not there.

Or so it seemed.

This is the hardest part of living in faith. Not the crisis moment. Not even the waiting — it's the kind of waiting that looks like abandonment. The kind where the evidence in front of you seems to contradict everything you just experienced of God. The season where the answer hasn't come, the confirmation hasn't arrived, the breakthrough hasn't broken through — and the wind keeps blowing.

For many of the leaders I work with, this is exactly where they are. They've had the clear moment. They've felt the call. They may have even taken a step of obedience that cost them something real. And now they're in a boat, in the dark, wondering if they misread it all.

The waves didn't mean Jesus wasn't working. They just meant the disciples couldn't see him yet.

When We Look at the Wind

Peter's failure is the part of the story most people know. He looked at the waves, panicked, and began to sink.

But let's be precise about what happened: he didn't fail because he lacked faith. He failed because he shifted his focus. He started on Jesus. He sank when he moved to the problem.

"But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink, cried out, 'Lord, save me!'" — Matthew 14:30

There's a pattern here that plays out in leadership constantly. A compelling vision. A courageous first step. Then — inevitably — the metrics, the critics, the obstacles, the noise. And slowly, almost without noticing, the leader who started with their eyes fixed on the call starts spending most of their time staring at the wind.

The wind is real. The waves are real. But they were never meant to be the point of reference.

Jesus didn't appear to calm Peter's nerves. He appeared to walk toward him. The invitation was to keep moving toward Jesus — not to solve the storm first.

How a Leader Stays Grounded in the In Between

So the bigger question — the one that matters as much on the ordinary Tuesday as it does in the mountaintop moment — is this: How does a leader remain grounded, faithful, and obedient in the hours between "later that night" and "shortly before dawn?"

Not in theory. Practically. Here's what I've seen work, and what Scripture consistently points back to:

• Stay close to the last clear thing God said. In the in between, our tendency is to reinterpret the original word in the light of current circumstances. Don't. Write it down. Return to it. Hold it as your anchor point while everything else shifts.

• Don't mistake silence for absence. Jesus was not in the boat. He was on the mountain, praying. The disciples' in between and Jesus' intercession were happening simultaneously. Your hard season is not proof that God has stepped away from the story — it may be the very space in which he is most actively at work.

• Keep rowing. The disciples didn't stop. They were still straining at the oars (Mark 6:48). Faithfulness in the in between is not passive endurance — it is active obedience in the direction you last knew was right, even when you can't see the next step. Keep doing the good work. Keep showing up. Keep serving. Keep praying.

• Get the right people in the boat with you. You cannot navigate the in between alone. The disciples were together in that darkness. "In an abundance of counsellors there is safety." (Proverbs 11:14) A coach, a mentor, a trusted community of leaders who are walking their own water — these are not luxuries for the in between seasons. They are lifelines.

LeaderPrint is what God called me to do in this season of my life. I'm building bigger boats where leaders can avoid being alone, especially in the inbetween, and in troubled waters.

• Let the reaching out be your reflex. When Peter started sinking, he didn't try harder. He called out: "Lord, save me." And Matthew records that Jesus reached out his hand immediately. The in between is the season to develop the reflex of reaching — not of managing, not of performing, but of reaching. Daily. Honestly. Without the polished version.

The in between is not a gap in your story. It is the most formative part of it.

A Final Thought

Jesus didn't wait until calm water to show up. He walked out to the disciples in the storm. And the moment he climbed into the boat, the wind died down — and the disciples worshipped him.

They didn't worship him on the hillside after the miracle of the loaves. They worshipped him in the boat, after the storm.

There's something in that for us. The deepest knowledge of who Jesus is — the kind that produces real, lasting worship — often doesn't come from the miracle moments. It comes from the hours between. The dark water. The wind you didn't see coming.

Your in between is not wasted. It is the space where character is built, faith is anchored, and the God who walks on water draws nearest.

Keep your eyes on him. Keep rowing. Dawn is coming.

Reflection Questions

1. What is the "boat" in your current season — the comfort zone, the proven strategy, or the familiar identity — that may be keeping you from stepping toward what God is calling you to?

2. When did you last hear a clear word from God about the direction you're heading? Write it down if you haven't already. How are you holding onto it in the in between?

3. Where have you shifted focus from Jesus to the wind? What would it look like to reorient — practically, today?

4. Who is in the boat with you? Is there a trusted voice — a mentor, a coach, a community — walking alongside you through this season?

5. What would it mean for you to keep rowing in faithful obedience, even without resolution on the horizon?

If this resonated with you, I'd love to hear what your "in between" looks like right now. You can reach out through the contact page — or if you're a senior leader navigating this season and wondering whether it's time to get some support, explore what LeaderPrint looks like for you.