Laying in bed is suddenly the only thing I can do. I am not sick. I have not worked my fingers to the bone. But my heart is heavy enough to drag my body to the mattress. To the heating pad and the soft lamp and the fan for white noise. All the comforts of my own bed to hold the weary carrier of my soul.
I was driving today when I felt the hand of the Comforter reach out and gently touch the place that lies buried. Buried beyond my own ability to reach. The deep ache. The place that cracks open when you are on your knees, and stays shut tight when you are on the go. I was singing
“Through it all, through it all, my eyes are on you, and it is well with me.”
“It is well with me”
Words like these break my heart. Dismantle me and comfort me all at once. Because I am walking “through it all”. I am in “through it all”. You are too. I can't fix it. Yours or mine. I stand in love, and hope and wait and grieve.
It isn't that I suddenly “feel” well. It it much deeper and scarier and better than that. It’s in the ache in my heart, the questions, the confusion, the sadness, the anger, the bored, the fear, the loss, the hate, the discontentment, the humiliation, the anxiety, the emptiness. It’s in it that I sing “it is well with me”. I sing both because it is both. “through it all, it is well”. It’s not a command to speak something out in an attempt to make it true. It’s an invitation to what is already true. A Love beyond disillusionment. A call to go deeper, further. It is the Hand of the Comforter taking mine and saying, “I know Dear Heart, and come on. Come on”.