There’s an old song I love called “It Is Well with my Soul.” I think I have probably listened to every version available on YouTube. I am moved by the beautiful poetry of the lyrics: “Peace like a river”, “Sorrow like sea billows” and “It is well with my soul”.

I never knew the origin of the song until last year when I watched a breathtaking performance by Hugh Bonneville and the Tabernacle Choir. (Take a few minutes to watch it. It will be a potentially life-changing 10 minutes for you. Have a tissue handy!)

The song was penned in 1873 by Horatio G. Spafford, who lost six of his eight children. While on an ocean voyage to Europe, his four daughters were lost when their ship collided with another ship and sank into the dark waters of the Atlantic. His wife was rescued from the wreckage. When she reached land, she sent a telegram: “Saved alone. What shall I do?”

Horatio booked passage on the next available ship and left to join his grieving wife. With the ship about four days out, the captain called Horatio to his cabin and told him they were over the place where his children went down. Instead of looking down into the sea, he looked up into the night sky and began to write the words to the song that would one day touch millions of people.

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, it is well with my soul.

It is well with my soul,

It is well, it is well with my soul

On the morning of August 22, 2019, a monstrous wave crashed down on me and my family with the unexpected passing of my precious eight-week-old grandbaby, Azalea. (Read more here.) All through that agonizing day, this song rolled through my mind and acted as a balm to soothe my aching heart. It was as if I were being quietly sung to by an unseen choir of angels.

I remember thinking that if the Spaffords could survive losing four daughters all at once, I could certainly survive this, with the help of angels and my Savior, Jesus Christ.

Although my heart was broken and heavy with grief, I remember thinking, “What’s going on? I should be hysterical. How is it even possible that I feel so much peace?” A friend of mine messaged me to see how I was doing and I texted back: “The Savior has been with me. It is well with my soul.”

I was indeed feeling peace like a river. And I finally understood the meaning of the scripture that says: “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, shall keep your hearts, your minds through Christ Jesus.” – (Philippians 4:7). It was incomprehensible to me that I could feel so much sorrow and yet so much love and peace, all at the same time.

Wintley Phipps is an artist who sings this same song. He prefaced his performance of the song with these words: “It is in the quiet crucible of your personal, private sufferings that your noblest dreams are born and God’s greatest gifts are given in compensation for what you’ve been through.” 

I couldn’t agree more, Mister Phipps.

When I describe our Azalea’s passing to others, I tell them that it has been excruciatingly painful… and yet – it has also been exquisitely beautiful and sacred.

Never have I received such miraculous comfort. Nor have I been enveloped in such unimaginable love by all those around me and by heavenly beings. And never before have I felt with such intensity the power of the Atonement of our Savior Jesus Christ. He not only paid the price for our sins, but also for our pain and our suffering. No matter what I was feeling – He felt it first. He walked through all those agonizing hours with me and carried me, not wanting me to feel the full impact as He, himself had already done.

Two hours after I learned of Azalea’s passing, I was on a plane bound for my daughter’s home. A lady two seats over noticed my tears and asked, “What’s the matter, honey?” When I explained why I was crying, she said, “You mad at God? Because I would be!” She didn’t seem interested in any of my expressions of hope and faith and informed me that she didn’t believe in the afterlife. I felt more sad for her than for myself.

Of course, I wasn’t mad at God, for I felt Him with me all during that flight, embracing me, loving me, speaking peace to me. He had not left me comfortless. How could I be angry? God has never promised to take away our suffering. But He will help us bravely bear it and learn priceless lessons from it… if we let Him.

When we are tossed upon life’s most terrible tempests, we have a decision to make: Will we become bitter… or better?

Six weeks after Azalea’s death, I still have to make that choice each day. Will I allow myself to sink into the depths of despair or will I keep on swimming and do the important spiritual work of taking my sorrows to God? Am I going to stubbornly hold onto every bit of pain or will I surrender it into the outstretched hands of my loving Jesus? I have poured out my heart to him and he has pulled me out of the deep and wrapped me in peace.

I’m understanding more and more that the trials of our lives – the really tough things – are actually divine gifts to help us become a little more like Christ, to know Him and to trust Him.

“In a paradoxical way, afflictions and sorrow prepare us to experience joy if we will trust in the Lord and his plan for us.” (L. Todd Budge, Oct. 6, 2019)