It Is Well

Last night I attended the funeral of Joe Bazzle, a main-stay in my church and a pretty major punch in the gut to find out he had passed last Thursday. It was the first funeral I had attended since my mom's. I knew it was going to be hard to handle one on more levels than one, but I also knew that I needed to go. The last song we sang before I left to help the ladies serve the food for the family was 'It Is Well'. If you have never heard of the story behind It Is Well, you should read it because that alone is inspiring. The first stanza, however, pretty much says it all...

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.

The stanza that caught my heart last night was the third one we sang. I don't know that I ever realized the way it was phrased with him starting a line, then literally interrupting it to say how amazing a thought it is, and then finishing it.

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!

Last week was a little odd for me. We passed the 8 month mark since my mom died. For some reason it hit me relatively hard, although it was almost all subconscious, which had it's own form of oddness. Rather than thinking about my mom all the time (as happened on other month markers), it was as if my brain was in fact thinking about her, but didn't bother telling me. I only knew because I wasn't in the right mood, I was edgy and impatient randomly and for no good reason, my body was physically showing stress even though I wasn't feeling stressed, and I was exhausted but couldn't sleep. I have no idea if this is really making any sense, but suffice to say that it was weird to experience. All week I battled whether it was my emotions trying to get the better of me, or emotions that I needed to express and get out, or a combination of the two. It was an exercise in questioning myself on why I was feeling stressed, addressing it, and then doing it again...and again...and again. After a whole lot of soul searching that culminated in experiencing a funeral to question the very things I had been questioning all week, I can sing with Horatio Spafford that it really is well with my soul. My brain may still have to work things out from time to time, but it is well will my soul...and in the end, isn't that the most important part?

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