Shortly before her death on July 3, I stopped by after work to visit her. When I walked in, the place was quiet and we had the opportunity to visit for awhile, just me and her. Another couple eventually came in, an elderly husband in his wheelchair with his wife wheeling him in. The husband wheeled up next to Myrt's bedside and the wife pulled up a chair, and they spent the time chatting and catching up. Eventually the wife pulls out a portable CD player and plugs it into the wall (Don't you love people who are well-prepared?). "Myrt, we just know you love the song 'It Is Well With My Soul,' so we brought along our CD player to play it for you."
So, here were the three of us gathered around Myrt's bed as she lay there, and the deep, rumbling voice of Wintley Phipps began pouring out of the speakers, filling the room.
When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say
It is well with my soul.
Line after line, verse after verse, this slow crescendo building. I sat there watching this trio of friends, each with their snow-white hair, creases and wrinkles lining their faces, time claiming what once were youthful appearances. I felt this sense of awe, almost as if I was eavesdropping on a very personal and private meeting of those who had figured out the secret to life, like some sort of interloper showing up at the Council of Elrond. During the song, they each had closed their eyes and started singing along with Wintley, the words memorized by heart. Words that had been tested and tried, found to be true in their own lives through personal experience.
The husband eventually lifts one of hand up to the sky, still singing from this place of deep conviction, "Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to say it is well, it is well, with my soul." Here was this man confined to a wheelchair, and my friend Myrt bedridden with cancer ravaging her body, and yet still they could say with every fiber of their being, "It is well with my soul."
They had found something greater than their fears - and that something was the conviction and belief that God was real and that Jesus was and is exactly who he said he was. Conviction that the God they believed in was greater than the death they were facing, greater than the diagnoses they had been handed, greater than the fear that could have so easily taken hold. Conviction that the God they believed to be the God of light was with them even in the shadows of death. Conviction that believed it was well with their souls even when it was not well with their circumstances.
Steffany Gretzinger said, "There’s only one thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear - and that is my conviction. The only thing in my entire life that is greater than my fear is my conviction that I knew God was who he said he was, even if I hadn’t experienced him in a certain way yet. Even if my experience and my understanding were small, I knew he was not. Sometimes we sing something because we believe it, because we are sure - and sometimes we sing it until we’re sure, until we know."
Myrt and her friends sang that day because they believed, because they were sure. There was no need to sing until they were sure. They had passed that point of surety long ago in their lives. They sang because they had encountered a God who was big enough, wide enough, strong enough and wild enough for all their fears.
After the shock of this past fall and more than enough panic attacks to last me the rest of my life, I felt that same kind of conviction sink roots deep into my own soul. It will be 20 years this week since I embraced Jesus as my Savior, and never have I ever been more convinced in my life that God is who he says he is. I feel it deep, deep in my bones, this conviction that is finally greater than all my fears and all my anxiety - my God is real. There were a couple of fairly severe panic attacks last September and I remember white-knuckling a few prayers to Jesus, "I have absolutely no idea why these are happening, and I have absolutely no idea how you're going to get me to the other side of this season of life, but I will not let go of you because I am convinced you will not abandon me, and I am convinced that this is not your will for your children." I was convinced God was deliverer, so I was going to trust him to deliver me. I was convinced God was good, so I was a going to trust he was going to work all things together for my good. I was convinced God was a God of peace, so I was going to trust his peace would prevail. It had no longer become an option for fear to win. Fear may have been what got me into that mess of a season in the first place, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be what got me out.
Our convictions have got to become greater than our fears - otherwise we will die in a pit of slavery to those very fears. Somewhere along the way in our lives, we've got to decide that a sheer sense of grit and fortitude are going to be what trump whatever else it is we are feeling. People who can confidently sing the words "it is well with my soul" can sing those words not because their circumstances are absent pain or heartache, but because their convictions supersede their pain. I can say that it is well with my soul - not because it is always well with my circumstances - but because God is who he says he is.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ hath 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 the 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.
- Horatio Spafford
