it is well...
When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has 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.
—"It is Well With My Soul," Horatio G. Spafford, 1873
Last weekend I finished reading Peace Like a River. I am indebted to Craig Nash for recommending this book because it was an enjoyable read. You were right Craig, those last two or three chapters got me. As I was reading the book on the first day, I came to the chapter titled "When Sorrows Like Sea Billows Roll." It is funny how different things set off vivid memories in your mind. You never know when it is going to happen. As soon as I read the title of the chapter, I flashed back to November 1, 2005 as a group of family, friends, and mourners sat in First Baptist Church Waco, Texas for the funeral of a great friend and amazing human being.
Out of all the songs that we had to sing on that day—the day that will forever be burned into our minds, the day we buried Kyle—we had to sing "It is Well." To this day, I do not know how Dave made it through that song. To this day, I do not know why we sang that song. Of course, we did/do have assurance that Kyle was/is in a better place, but I could not sing it. I didn't know how people could sing it with so much fervor. The voices of the people in the sanctuary echoed around the room. It was not well with my soul. And most of the time, it is not well with my soul.
I remember sitting there in the pew with twenty of my best friends staring at the words on the page: It is well...with my soul. It is well...with my soul. It is well, it is well, with my soul. I began to cry because for the first time in my life I could not sing. The only thing I wanted to do was scream aloud at God. I wanted to be Job shaking my fist at God, demanding a confrontation, and givinig Him a piece of my mind. As the tears ran down my face, I wondered if I could ever sing again.
I am singing again. However, it is not the same. Much of the time I read the words to see if I really can sing what they say. I think we often sing songs because that is what we are suppose to do when everyone else is singing.
I don't really know the purpose of this post, but I think this is part of my therapy. Things come out at random times, and I have to get them out. My apologies to those of you who are tired of reading or hearing things about Kyle and his death. I have felt like that a lot lately.
Summer is approaching. Hooray. peace
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has 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.
—"It is Well With My Soul," Horatio G. Spafford, 1873
Last weekend I finished reading Peace Like a River. I am indebted to Craig Nash for recommending this book because it was an enjoyable read. You were right Craig, those last two or three chapters got me. As I was reading the book on the first day, I came to the chapter titled "When Sorrows Like Sea Billows Roll." It is funny how different things set off vivid memories in your mind. You never know when it is going to happen. As soon as I read the title of the chapter, I flashed back to November 1, 2005 as a group of family, friends, and mourners sat in First Baptist Church Waco, Texas for the funeral of a great friend and amazing human being.
Out of all the songs that we had to sing on that day—the day that will forever be burned into our minds, the day we buried Kyle—we had to sing "It is Well." To this day, I do not know how Dave made it through that song. To this day, I do not know why we sang that song. Of course, we did/do have assurance that Kyle was/is in a better place, but I could not sing it. I didn't know how people could sing it with so much fervor. The voices of the people in the sanctuary echoed around the room. It was not well with my soul. And most of the time, it is not well with my soul.
I remember sitting there in the pew with twenty of my best friends staring at the words on the page: It is well...with my soul. It is well...with my soul. It is well, it is well, with my soul. I began to cry because for the first time in my life I could not sing. The only thing I wanted to do was scream aloud at God. I wanted to be Job shaking my fist at God, demanding a confrontation, and givinig Him a piece of my mind. As the tears ran down my face, I wondered if I could ever sing again.
I am singing again. However, it is not the same. Much of the time I read the words to see if I really can sing what they say. I think we often sing songs because that is what we are suppose to do when everyone else is singing.
I don't really know the purpose of this post, but I think this is part of my therapy. Things come out at random times, and I have to get them out. My apologies to those of you who are tired of reading or hearing things about Kyle and his death. I have felt like that a lot lately.
Summer is approaching. Hooray. peace
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