There are days for me, when the sky is gray. One baby crying upstairs, the other crying downstairs, I find myself in the middle, thinking how much I’d rather be able to sit still than juggle.


Sometimes, the daily grind tires my heart.

I imagine there are days for you. When your boss is angry. Your spouse is angry. Your heart is angry. Or just tired. And though He is Risen, you feel like you’re still in the tomb.

I find myself gray.

Then I read a story like this one, a mother who lost her young daughter, after a long battle, on Good Friday. And thankfulness for these boys of mine finds me again.

Perhaps you hear unemployment rates on the news. And thankfulness for a job greets you.

A single friend talks about the challenges she’s facing. And your spouse is rightly recognised as a gift from God.

I remembered this morning the story of Horatio Stafford, a friend to D.L. Moody, who lost a son, then all his investments, and then his four daughters to shipwreck. He travelled to England, to be reunited with his wife who’d survived, and on the journey his boat passed over the spot where the shipwreck took place and he wrote these words:

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.
Refrain: 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! Blessèd hope, blessèd 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.

Stafford’s words are a powerful and convincing reminder to me: It doesn’t take too much looking to find a reason to say that it is well with your soul today, but when all else is lost, the very fact that He went to the Cross, and He is Risen is reason enough.