It Will Be Well
You know, it is not easy to get to
a point where I can say “It is well with my soul” after all I have been
through. There have been times when it was not well with my soul. My soul was
screaming out in pain, as if it had been stabbed repeatedly with great
violence. I wondered if I would ever be able to say again that it was well with
my soul.
How does one find the ability to be
well, deep in her soul, after suffering a stillbirth and then two miscarriages?
The loss of each baby took a part of my soul. My heart was ripped out with each
loss. My wounded soul was slashed open after just healing from the last loss.
The scars that each loss has left on my soul make it very tender, sensitive,
and easily cracked open again.
I am no longer whole because three
parts of me were torn away—buried. One in the cold, dark, damp earth. Cleaved
from my womb only to be taken straight into a darkness that mirrored my soul.
Two others were not even given a chance at experiencing life since they were
destroyed even as my very inner being cried out for their light to be able to
shine.
Darkness overcame my soul and for a
very long time, I wondered if I would ever see or experience light again.
I lived in a deep, pitch-black cave
where I was unable even to move because I could not even see my hand in front
of my face. When I did try to stir around in my cave, I would fall, stumble,
and bruise my body from head to toe. It was cold. Damp. There were noises that
made the hair on the back of my neck and my arms stand up on end. I could feel
the evil surrounding me as I wept deep, soul-wrenching sobs from morning ‘til
night, night ‘til morning.
The tears never stopped flowing. They
created a stream in my cave that ran no-where, as far as I could tell. No
matter how hard or long I looked for the end or the beginning, it continued on
into perpetuity.
Then came the day when the tiniest
pin-prick of light suddenly appeared off in the distance. After being in the
darkness for so long, at first I did not believe it was real. I knew I had finally
begun hallucinating in the darkness. I had been without light for so long, I
was imagining that it was calling to me.
Ever so carefully, I began
stumbling my way towards it. I continued to fall, bruise myself, and weep deep
in my very being, but I steadily made my way towards that tiny light.
That beautiful light began to grow
larger the closer I got to it, but it still seemed so very far way. For a long
time, I gave up attempting to get to it. I simply sat in the same spot, weeping
and wondering why the light never got any closer no matter how long I traveled
towards it.
One not so very special day, I
heard something.
“Polly.
PollyAnna. Come out. I am here.”
Now I was
hearing things as well as hallucinating? My terror grew with each call of my
name.
Instead of
going towards the light—towards the voice, I ran, as well as I could, deeper
into the cave to hide. I was afraid.
I was afraid of the light.
I was afraid of the tender voice
calling my name.
No matter how deep I went into my
cave, I could still hear the voice, “Polly. PollyAnna. It’s ok. I’m here. I
will wait as long as necessary. I will never leave you.”
Slowly,
with shaky, tiny, stumbling, tentative steps, I began the journey once again
towards the light.
And the
voice.
The tender-loving
voice never stopped calling my name, speaking words of encouragement.
The day
came, finally, when the light began to grow and I could see not just my hand in
front of my face, but the walls of my cave.
Hope began
to stir deep inside.
Every time I stopped to catch my
breath, I moved on as quickly as possible.
I was no longer afraid of the
light.
Or the
voice.
I
desperately wanted to reach the light and see the man who was calling my name.
I knew that all would be well once I walked into the light. I became desperate
and never stopped even to catch my breath.
I began to run, slipping, sliding,
falling—again and again, but this time, instead of giving up or running back
into the cave, I kept moving forward towards the light.
The sound
of the man’s voice grew louder with passing step. But not louder as in He was shouting;
just louder in that I could hear Him more clearly. I knew He would fill the
hole that ruptured open each time I had lost a baby.
I needed to get to Him.
Finally.
There He was.
He was sitting on a large rock at
the entrance to the cave. As I came into view, He stood and held out His arms
so I could walk into His welcoming embrace. He held me for a long time,
crooning soft, gentle, loving words into my ears as He held me close to His
beating heart.
When the
tears slowed, He pulled away, took me by the hand, and led me out, fully into
the light, away from the cave. He stopped. We turned and watched as a giant
stone was rolled in front of the cave, sealing it for all eternity.
That was
the moment when I realized that my soul was mended. Yes, there would still be
tears to come, but with Him by side, holding my hand, it was finally well with
my soul.
Polly Anna Watson, Wednesday, January 22, 2020; revised:
Friday, January 24, 2020
“It is Well” by Horatio Spafford and the new version by
Kristine DeMarco
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