it is well

Its been a hard adjustment back into school. Life and school are having a hard time intermingling this quarter. Things are starting to pile up and I’m already behind. It is pretty easy to be discouraged.

I know my life is, relatively speaking, pretty good- and probably most people (at least in America) have it okay. That almost makes it worse, reading and hearing about all those who struggle daily to survive or recover against horrific circumstances- and I am all torn up over a hit car, a kid being mean to my son, family moving, and being behind in homework.

But brokenness is brokenness. If it is small or large there is still a need of healing. There is a need for the Cross.

That’s why I love going to church. Sure there are a lot of plastic smiles and fake enthusiasm, but underneath the cheap veneer there is an acknowledgement of helplessness, an awareness of insufficiency that calls out to God. And so we come together as a family, with all the awkwardness that implies, to offer all of the wounds accumulated throughout the week: our disappointments, failures, hurt feelings, misunderstandings, and best intentions to a God that cares.

A few hours ago we sang, “It Is Well with My Soul.” Though outward circumstances may be difficult, God is good. Though the world rages around us, God is good. Though our hearts may be in tumult, God is good. And it is well with our souls.

It Is Well With My Soul

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.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

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!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

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 my 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.

—Horatio Spafford

 

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