It Is Well

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well with my soul. – Horatio Spafford

Doug and I were commuters. He took public transportation even when it behaved badly. After his diagnosis, he worked mostly from home. Cancer and subway germs do not mix, and the commute was exhausting. We were so fortunate that his job allowed this. But it was hard for him to give up that commute. No more reading on the train, no chance to complete the crossword before he arrived at his stop. A minor loss, but loss nonetheless.  

My retreat from commuting happened much earlier, and I welcomed the change. After our second child, with drop-offs and pick-ups and the busy-ness of daily life, I began driving. While not as environmentally responsible, I drove through familiar neighborhoods and along pretty stretches of parkway. A little like my Dad in this regard, I never regarded driving as a hardship, and music kept me company.

When Doug was sick, I created a playlist of favorite hymns. They brough so much comfort on Sundays, why save them for only one day a week? The familiar words set the tone for my day in the morning and bolstered my resolve on the way home. It is well, it is well, with my soul. I repeated this line so often, especially as Doug entered the hospital that last time, as I drove every day to see him and drove home to be with the kids.

The words stuck a little more though. How could he be well or we be well with circumstances rolling over so us intensely? We had so many lifting us up in prayer, wishing us well, we let that carry us. I chose to believe in a blest assurance, in a peace that surpassed our understanding. I tried to embody this for him, for them, for myself. And so I kept repeating, it is well with my soul. I still say these words every day.