When it’s Not Always Well

In 1873, Horatio Spafford put his wife and four daughters aboard a ship traveling from the United States to Europe, with the intention of following them a few days later for a family vacation.  The Saffords had already suffered the death of their young son and lost all of their properties in the Chicago Fires.  A trip to get away was definitely in order. However, the ship Mrs. Safford and her girls were aboard collided with another ship while en route, causing the boat to sink.  The vast majority of the 313 passengers drowned in the ice cold waters of the Atlantic.  While Horatio’s wife was rescued after being found clinging to part of the ship’s debris, his daughters did not survive.  Spafford left on the next ship to be with his wife after learning the tragic news.  As his ship passed by the exact spot where his daughters died, he penned the words to the beloved hymn, “It is Well”.  The words of that grieving father have been an inspiration to me in light of such personal loss, as I’m sure they have been for many.  If one can say “It is well” when reeling from the death of not one, but five children….wouldn’t we all consider that to be a person of great faith?

A year ago, I would have agreed with that.  And many a time, I have sat at the piano and have sung those same words, thinking that I, too, must be a person of great faith to even be able to utter such lyrics.  After all, wasn’t it a great demonstration of unshakable faith and immovable trust in God to accept “my lot” in life?  If I wasn’t able to sing those words, it seemed to be a denial of that faith and trust.

But as time continues to pass in my grief journey, I find it more and more difficult to sing, let alone, hear those words.  Recently as I walked around my neighborhood one evening, those familiar words came streaming through my earbuds:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

My ears heard the words.  But my heart was not comforted.  Tears welled up as I faced the conclusion that even a year after my son’s death, I can say with brutal honesty that it is not well with my soul.  And it never will be.

It is not well with my soul that my son doesn’t get to begin his sophomore year of high school.

It is not well with my soul when I look at kids Joe’s age dressing up for a homecoming dance.

It is not well with my soul that his friends have started to learn how to drive – something he couldn’t wait to do.

It is not well with my soul to go eat sushi and not have him across the table from me.

It is not well with my soul every time I take out two plates for dinner, rather than three.

It is not well with my soul that his room remains empty day in and day out.

I am learning that as long as I have breath in these earthly lungs, I will never be “well” with Joe’s death.  There will never be a day where I don’t long to see his face and wrap my arms around him.  And that is perhaps one of the most important lessons I’ve learned in grief:

It is OK to not be OK.

It is well to not be well with the difficult circumstances of this world.  When I look at the devastation of hurricanes and earthquakes and fires and violence, it is not well with my soul.  When I see those around me suffering with illness and cancer and Alzheimer’s, it is not well with my soul.  When I hear about death of any kind, my soul cries for those who now have to walk their own difficult journey. And it is not well with my soul.

If all of this is not well with my soul, it begs the question….well, then what IS well with my soul?  The answer is one that is slowly developing with the course of passing time and the healing of my broken heart.

I am well with the sovereignty of God.  I am OK knowing that God is God and I am not. God is in control of all things He created.  He owns all things, knows all things, rules all things.  Nothing that happens in my life is a mystery to Him.  Even the death of my child.

Remember the former things, those of long ago;
    I am God, and there is no other;
    I am God, and there is none like me.
I make known the end from the beginning,
    from ancient times, what is still to come.
I say, ‘My purpose will stand,
    and I will do all that I please. ~ Isaiah 46:9-10

I am well with God’s plan for my life. I fully trust that God has a plan with a much bigger perspective than I will ever know or understand.  He sees the big picture and ultimately, I know it is not about God living out His part in my story.  Rather, it is about me living out my part in HIS story.

Many are the plans in a person’s heart,
    but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails. ~ Proverbs 19:21

I am well with God’s mercy.  There is never a more greater awareness of the mercy of God than when walking through the journey of grief.  I cannot explain it well enough to do it justice, but it is because of this undeserved mercy that I have the assurance of seeing my son again.  My child was saved because of the mercy of God through Jesus Christ.  I am too.  And this is what will ultimately reunite us.

In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you…  ~1 Peter 1:3-4

Perhaps it is this concept of God’s mercy that inspired Horatio Spafford to write the less infamous verse of “It is Well”.

My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!—
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

And finally, I am well with Christ’s return like never before.   Joe and I used to joke about that all the time.  Whenever things were hard and we were dealing with difficult issues, or when we would watch depressing news stories, one of us would turn to the other and say, “I’m ready for Jesus to come back.”  And the other would agree.  But let me tell you, a grieving mother’s heart could not mean it any more sincerely to say those same words and pray it to come true every day.

1For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. ~  1 Thessalonians 4:16

The final two verses Horatio Spafford wrote are no mystery to those of us who long for Christ’s return with every fiber of our being.

But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

God knew we would have to walk through trials in this life.  He knew the moment sin entered the world that it would not be well.  With His soul or ours. Which is why He sent His only Son to die the death we deserved.  So that there would be no more separation. No more sadness.  No more grief.  No more death.  He made a way so that it would truly be well between Him and us.  Forever.

And that is why I can declare with all that is in me, “It is well with my soul.”

 

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Giant Baby Steps

It’s been a favorite pastime of my daughter and mine to go to stores and try on crazy shoes we’d never really consider (or could afford) buying.  You know the ones – four-inch spiky gold heels, strappy blue-leather wedges, furry neon pink ballet slippers.  As far as we’re concerned, the wilder, the better. We never actually buy any of these – but we love to laugh at just the sight of each other in shoes we’d really never have any occassion to wear.  We’ve been doing this since my daughter was about five, when her little feet wouldn’t even come close to fitting my size.  It didn’t matter, though…she’d still be in the same aisle as me, trying on the same size shoe I would and having a grand old time clomping around.

The other day, after we finished our annual school supply shopping trip, we decided to reward ourselves with a visit to the clearance aisles of DSW.  However, this time as we began to try on shoes, I realized with a twinge of sadness that now my daughter actually does belong in the same shoe aisle as I do.  (She’s just a fraction of an inch away from reaching my shoe size.) As Ella grabbed a pair of multi-colored sequin heels to shove on her feet, she asked if I remembered the time that she nearly twisted her ankle in a tall pair of shoes while she was running.

“Hmmm….I don’t remember.  When was that?”  I asked

“It was when we were picking up Joe from youth group,”  she replied.

And as I casually carried on the conversation as if it were completely natural, I nearly wanted to cry tears of joy right there in the size 7.5 clearance aisle.  You see, that was the second time in over ten months that I’ve heard my daughter speak her brother’s name out loud.

One giant baby step.

Upon returning home from our shopping adventures, I suggested to Ella that she keep her school supplies on Joe’s bed, so that our dog wouldn’t get into the new items and ruin them.  She hesitated (as she rarely goes into her brother’s room), but then thought about it and went into his room to set the bags down.

Two giant baby steps.

Later that evening, I decided to go into Joe’s room and clean out his drawer of leftover school supplies.  After a few minutes of tossing old pencils, markers, and dried-up glue sticks into a trash bag, Ella wandered in and announced she was going to get her supplies all ready.  She proceeded to plop herself down right in the middle of Joe’s floor and begin the organization process.  As we both sat in that room – me tossing out the old, and her opening up the new – I couldn’t help but praise God for this very moment.  We were both spending time in a room that has been so difficult to even step foot in for nearly a year.

Three giant baby steps.  In one day. 

And if she could do three giant baby steps in one day, then I decided I could take a few myself.

The next morning, I went into Joe’s room and did things I never thought I’d be able to do.  I dusted furniture.  I took down the 2016 wall calendar that was still open to September. I moved a couple of things around.  Put books back on the shelf.  Neatly organized the shoes that had been tossed in the closet.  And the big one:  I washed the glass that had been sitting next to my son’s computer since the last day he drank from it.  It was time. And as difficult as it was, I told myself that doing so wouldn’t erase any memory of my sweet boy from my mind.  It wouldn’t change how much I loved him – or still love him.

There’s still more to do in his room.  Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.  And maybe I won’t.  I’ve learned in grief to have low expectations and high levels of grace.  (Trust me – not easy for a type-A, task-oriented girl like me.)  I might set a goal and have every intention of making it happen, but not be able to do it when the time comes.  And I’m learning that that’s OK.  God is teaching me that my list, my agenda, and my plans may not be His own.

What about you?  You may not be grieving the loss of a child, but are you allowing yourself grace when it comes to your expectations for your life?  Maybe life didn’t turn out at all how you thought it would.  Maybe you’re beating yourself up for not accomplishing more in your life.  Maybe you’re really good at playing the game of “If I had just done this instead….”  Oh friend, do not fall into that pit!  Do not think for a second, that anything that has happened to you is wasted.  God is using it ALL for His glory.  It is ALL part of His ultimate good for those who love Him!  He has positioned you right where He wants you.  And He is ready for you to take those steps – however big or small – to His outstretched arms.

For my daughter, it was in the clearance shoe aisle this week.  For me, it was picking up that dirty glass and walking it to the dishwasher.  To most, it might seem insignificant. But to us, it was taking giant baby steps of healing towards our Father, who stood ready to pull us into His loving embrace.

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