I planned to write on a different topic but I felt inspired to veer off that course for today. I am in the process of searching for a new church home. In full transparency, I would say this is not exactly easy for me. Right now I'd say my relationship with God and my faith is tumultuous at best. Of course, no one really wants to talk about that. It seems to only be acceptable when you reach the other side and tell the struggle only as an aside to the change God has made in your life etc...or maybe in a strong small group, you'd be allowed to be vulnerable...just don't say it to too many people. It seems doubts are to be spoken in hushed tones and brushed under the rug. Regardless, I am still choosing to lean toward God, even while I'm still figuring some of it out.
This post isn't really about that process, though I imagine I will write about it at some point. I have written a very long draft that is a little incoherent as I'm still trying to find ways to explain myself - to explore the questions that I have heard answered before - to be able to find the words and get them down on paper - to be able to reconcile these contradictions and the plaguing questions of "why". Just as that entry is a work in progress, so am I.
But today I am talking about one song...a song I have felt connected to for as long back as I can remember having heard it. Today during worship, I got a little [a lot] teary eyed and at times I couldn't get the words out. Tears fell onto my cheeks no matter how much I tried to blink them away. The song - "It is Well" - by Bethel Music.
That song has been special to me for about a year now. I don't remember the first time I heard it. I am not even really sure how I decided to listen to Bethel Music, but early on...after the breakup I would get in bed at night and say "Alexa, play Bethel Music." I wanted to get my heart, mind, and soul to a better place. I saw this as one step in that direction. That song, "It is Well" played every night. I couldn't get enough of it. I added it to a playlist.
I can't say exactly when that principle [it is well with my soul] seeped into my subconscious. It was long before hearing that song. I faintly remember hearing my dad repeat it one day standing in the kitchen. I am not sure if that is a real memory or not, but it is in my mind and associated with him nonetheless. I haven't always vocalized those words or had an "in your face" conversation that I want my life to follow that path - a path where I can confidently say "it is well with my soul." But I knew I wanted to live in that way. I knew I wanted my heart to have that assured peace - a peace that does not come from our own making or design - an eternal promise of peace and rest for the soul. And that drives my decisions.
For years I have tried to quietly live a life exemplifying that kind of life giving hope - an anchor for the soul - love. I have wanted to have faith and a heart that outwardly shows the fruits of the Spirit - a life that shows love in action - a life with an eternal motivation - a life not for myself. I am definitely not one who spits out a lot of optimistic or "fake it til you make it" kind of phrases and platitudes. But I have always had that guiding principle - for it to be well with my soul no matter what else is going on around me. And to love the people around me - to have a servant's heart - to plant seeds. But I question all of it. And I feel like I fail every single day. I don't know that anyone sees that heart and that scares me. And how easily it is well turns to is it well?
Why did that song bring me to tears today? For starters, it served as a friend in the very raw, early days of the breakup. I played it at night. I played it in car. And one day I played it while my dad was in the car. That may seem insignificant but we rarely had the radio or music on when we were in the car together. There were occasional periods of time when we would play a CD [gasp], or the news, or a game - but mostly we just chit chatted. I miss those conversations driving down the road. But my dad took note that day it played in the background and commented on how good it was and how much he liked it. I said in an earlier post and I'll say it again, I knew from that moment that I would forever be connected to that song and the lyrics "it is well with my soul."
Soon after that drive, I felt strangely compelled to buy something small for my house representing that moment I had with my dad - a random day - a day when I was driving him around instead of the other way around - a day early in his chemo treatments. We were never really given a reason to worry during these treatments. We were given hope that he would be ok - and not a false hope - or a hope for a miracle. And he was later declared cancer free - a cancer survivor. So when I bought that piece for my house, I wasn't buying something to memorialize my dad [but a part of me knew it would] or because I thought he was dying soon. I just wanted to buy wall decor that had meaning to me - a story on my walls.
I knew Dad would want "It is Well with My Soul" to be played at his funeral. And we thought that time would be at least 10 years away. None of us knew it would be just a few months after that day driving him around in my car. I don't know why him commenting on a song playing in my car held so much significance. Why did I make note of that moment? Looking back now, I see this as just one of several moments where it was almost as if I knew his death was coming sooner than later. It was as if my heart was absorbing every moment with him and being fully present.
As I sat listening to the pastor winding up his sermon, I could see the lyrics on the back screen for the worship team. I knew that song was coming. I was excited to hear it and sing it. But then, I just became filled with emotion and the reminder of the connection I had with my dad - the significance of those words in my life - the significance of that song in my life. And here it played, exactly 7 months to the day, that we buried my dad. I couldn't get the words out but my soul sang - my eyes sang - that lump in my throat sang. My dad seemed to live knowing "it is well with my soul."
The pastor felt a movement in that room. Now, this is only the second time I have been there so I have no idea if that's the norm for him to say...but he asked for any of the leadership to come up and speak - if they felt something stirring in their soul - if they felt God was using them in that moment to share. A lady immediately came up to the mic. And, honestly, I didn't hear most of what she said. I was listening but not really hearing or comprehending. I missed her words at the beginning which were kind of pivotal to the rest. And then my mind wandered.
What would I say if that mic ended up in my hand? I had gotten emotional. I was moved to tears. What was on my heart to share? I thought of my brokenness. I thought of those first days, weeks, months of grief. I thought of the fear - the isolation - the loneliness - the lack of connection. I thought of the gravitational pull away from anyone and everyone. I thought of how badly I wanted to withdraw - how easy it felt - how much I didn't want to hear one more word from people who didn't understand.
I thought of those internal battles...and the battle for my soul. And it's not the cute angel on one shoulder and devil on the other. This battle was far more calculated - far more cunning...a battle of finesse. It reminds me more of the psychological battles discussed in The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. Now, don't confuse me with the literary sort. I don't read much [almost not at all] but I used to long ago.
It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out. - The Screwtape Letters
I had never felt a force so strong - a rip current unknowingly pulling me far from shore while I was barely aware of my surroundings. I knew there would be people in attendance that were experiencing that same pull as I had felt, whether it be a battle with grief or something else. And I wanted to express the importance of finding ways to fight it - the need to fight it - recognizing the deception.
As easy and as comforting as those first moments of being withdrawn might feel, it's not sustainable for our mind, bodies, or souls. And it takes a first step. Those first steps are going to look different for everyone.
It is the idea of those first steps that really propel my writing. So often we see down the road. So often we see the end result. What we usually don't see are those first steps and the uncertain fight behind them. My first step was to walk into therapy. I won't say this step was particularly hard for me but I made it while still kind of lost and numb and pacing around unsure of what to do with myself.
The next step was starting a blog - to find a way to honor my dad...with a goal of helping others - to find connection - to recognize something and say "yes, me too!" - to feel less alone - to see the words they were trying to express. I am finding a way to channel my pain and document my experiences in hopes I help someone else. Along the way I think I will stumble and find it is well with my soul.
Comments