It Is Well With My Soul

I have a quiet peace tonight in the midst of a lot of unknowns.  Todd has been sick for a couple of weeks with no resolution to what is going on in his body.  He's in pain, and I can't do anything to help him.  He will need to see more doctors in the next week or so, and probably have more tests to find the root cause.  Our finances are a wreck, gas prices are outrageous, medical bills are heading our way, yet I have an indescribable peace.  For the past few weeks, I've had the old hymn "It Is Well With My Soul" in my head.  I take it as God's way of giving me peace and letting me know that He is taking care of things on my behalf.  Thank you, Lord, for your loving kindness.  Psalm 63:3 "Because your loving kindness is better than life, my lips shall praise you."  I praise you Lord!  You are so good to us.  I honor you in all that I do!  Thank you for providing, for healing, for protecting us.  Thank you, Lord for giving us your peace.  It is well, it is well with my soul.

The title of this blog comes from the old hymn "It is well with my soul" written by Horatio G. Spafford.  He penned this hymn after suffering significant tragedy in his personal life.  If you have time, google the history of this hymn.  It is quite moving!  I've taken the time to write the words here:

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. 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.