Monday, December 4, 2017

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

~ Horatio G. Spafford, It Is Well With My Soul

One of my favourite things at this time of year is the music programs airing on PBS. Late yesterday afternoon, Gerry happened upon a Celtic Woman special and, by the light of the non-traditional tree, we settled in to watch for a bit.

We only watched a few songs—Gerry was getting ready to head out for a hike leader dinner and I had a date with the big screen in the other room to watch the fall finale of This Is Us—but it was precious time while we watched. I don’t mind that it’s dark early when we can settle in for that kind of hygge.

After Gerry headed out for his dinner, I grabbed a quilt and Maya and I curled up in the TV room—me with a saucer of leftover casserole from last night’s potluck, and her wondering why she couldn’t have just a taste. Later, craving fruit and out of mandarin oranges, I pulled a bag of blueberries out of the freezer and enjoyed them frozen, one at a time. They were so, so delicious!

This morning, as I reflect back on the evening and its simple gifts, a burden lifts and gratitude falls gently. I recall the words to a hymn we sang in church yesterday—one of my favourites: “it is well, it is well, with my soul”—and those things that weigh heavy become light, the temporary weight of this world just that—temporary.

“And Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight.”


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
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