The five highest points in Florida are in what is called the Florida Highlands. They are all in the panhandle area, very close to Alabama. While in seminary we lived in the Highlands. Oak trees, soft breezes. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Britton Hill, the highest point in Florida, is the crown jewel. A marker denotes the highest natural point in the state. All very lovely, except......

The marker looks like a headstone. Britton Hill is all of 345 feet above sea level. If, back in the day, Alabama had won the dispute over ownership of the panhandle, the highest point in Florida would have been Sugarloaf Mountain, at 312 feet. (yes, it is called a mountain) The state only averages 100 feet above sea level for the entire state. If you subtract the Highlands, it is much lower. Tampa is less than 50 feet above sea level, Miami is around 10 feet, St, Pete is maybe 60 feet. And these are not measurements at beach level. This is inland.

It is important to remember that Florida is a swamp. I know, many folks love Florida. The cities, the attractions. It is all wonderful. But all this was mostly built on a giant swamp. Why? Folks enjoy the sun and the sea and, mostly, Florida covers that nicely. However, if you go out to the Everglades (which is the swamp) and look east or west toward the coasts, you will see no hills. I have been told that if you can elevate a hundred feet (via helicopter) you can see the Atlantic to the east and the Gulf to the west. There is no real high ground to go to in the peninsula. 

When a major, major storm like Milton blows in, it is not just the coastal cities that get the storm surge. The surge pushes ocean water in so that, during the storm, the streams and creeks and rivers flow away from the ocean or Gulf. This backflow raises the water in the Everglades, which in turn, pushes water into the cities. Lake Okeechobee, which is the head water of the Miami River and a hot fishing lake, is only 16 feet above sea level. Lake O supplies drinking water for half the state. The Everglades' flood will wash into Lake Okeechobee and contaminate the water. One hurricane when we lived there, the Lake actually had saltwater fish for a while. 

Because Florida is so wet already, Milton will barely slow down as it crosses the state. If it follows previous storm tracks, it will cross the state and turn north, driven by the Gulf Stream and the winds and hit land again near where the last one hit. This could very well make Katrina look tame.

When I lived down there, the media blew every storm way out of proportion. Every storm was the storm of the century. Every storm was going to leave trails of destruction. And then a couple of trees would come down and a light pole would fall. But this one has already become a Category Five storm with winds hitting 200mph. That is about as bad as it can get.

How many people will be impacted? How will it disrupt the nation? How much will it affect the price of gas (oil platforms evacuated) and how will it affect the flow of goods? No one knows. Maybe, just a few trees will fall and a couple of streetlamps will go out. Or maybe this is going to be a really big storm.

This blog is out early to urge you to pray for those in the path. After it passes, there will be the need to help in some way physically. Afterall, there is no giant and generous nation out there to help America like the rest of the world gets help. We can't expect our own government to help the people impacted. It will be, as usual, up us to help our own. 

Begin to pray.

Her name was Bonnie. She was 75 and had lived a wonderfully full life. She and her late husband Bob had never had children. Because of this she looked at Marsha and I as surrogate kids. We were just about the age her kids might have been had she ever had any and she loved to have us over. Of course, as her pastor I had to watch that. A wealthy lady with only a niece. It could easily look like we were trying to exploit her. But we enjoyed her, as well. She was just fun to be around. 

And then, while in the hospital for dehydration, she was administered someone else's medicine. It had a disastrous effect. It immediately caused her liver to start shutting down. She went into a spiraling fall from good health to approaching death. She was put on a transplant list, but it seemed unlikely that a new liver would be there in time. She slipped quickly.

As it happened, we had two others in the church who were also going through severe medical issues and who were dying. It was a Thursday and I had gone to the hospital to be with one, then to the other's home and now I was walking through Bonnie's door. She was curled up on her bed in a fetal position. The Hospice worker (real heroes) just looked at me and gave me a slight head shake. I kneeled down on the floor next to her bed and softly called her name. She opened her eyes. "Where have you been! Where have you been!?" "Bonnie, I'm sorry, but I have been with Edna and then with Bob. They need me, too." "NO! Just me! You should be with me!" With that she gripped my hand and held on to it until she died. 

Now, your first thought might be that she was being selfish, but she wasn't like that at all. However, she was dying, and she was in pain, and she wanted me there when the moment came. As you die your focus goes inward. I understood, but I did really feel bad for her because she felt she was being ignored. 

Then there was Lou. I pastored a church in Warren, Ohio and Lou was Board president when I went there. Just a wonderful guy. Their back yard and our back yard were separated by a chain link fence. Most mornings in good weather (that would be any weather that hadn't dumped a foot of snow) Lou and I would be at the fence around 6 AM, drinking coffee and gabbing. He was my father's age, but that is where any resemblance ended. He loved baseball and had coached Little League and girl's softball and had done this for over forty years. His youngest daughter had been a catcher for Ohio State's women's softball. He LOVED baseball and really loved the Indians. I talked him into starting a church softball team and when we eventually won the league championship, he wept. He was closer to me than my own father.

And then we moved to another church, eighty miles away. Lou and I kept in touch, but this new church was filled with new characters. One was Dennis. Dennis was a card. A tall black man, his voice rivaled James Earl Jones. He talked me into singing a special with him. "Why me, Dennis?" "Because, my young friend, a black man and a white man singing the Gospel together says something!" I sang, but I made sure they heard Dennis rather than me. He, too, loved baseball, and we attended several minor league games together. Dennis was going blind, so I always drove. He would hold onto my arm as we went to our seats. Once settled in, we would talk baseball together and with anyone around us. Once the game started, Dennis could tell where the ball was headed by the sound of the crack of the bat. He listened to the announcer at the beginning of the game and memorized the batting order and their positions. Dennis became the big brother I never had.

And then, out of the blue, Lou and Dennis died on the same day. Suddenly for both, which is really hard. I was going to do the funeral for Dennis because I was his pastor, which was on the same day as Lou's, so I couldn't go to Lou's funeral. On the day before both funerals, I visited with Dennis' family and then got in the car and traveled to Lou's visitation. Even though I had been gone for several years, I still had to be Pastor Wade. I did pretty well until Lou's wife gave me the ball we had all signed for Lou when we won that championship. Then I just crumbled. The next day I did OK for Dennis until they lowered the casket. And again, I crumbled.

There is a reason for this dark trip down memory lane. This is Pastor Appreciation Month. I know, I know. Your pastor doesn't preach well enough or your pastor doesn't check on you enough or your pastor doesn't wear the right clothes. Maybe he spends too much time with his family to suit you or maybe he doesn't spend enough time with his family to suit you. Maybe he is to educated and speaks over your head or maybe he isn't educated enough and speaks below your intellect. It could be you feel he doesn't work very hard or maybe you feel he works too hard. Chances are your pastor just doesn't suit you. I have no particular pastor in mind here. I know I am at least writing to people in Pennsylvania and Florida and West Virginia and Ohio and Indiana and Kentucky and New York and several other places. A lot of pastors are involved. You may not feel he (or she, as the case may be) is doing the job, but consider. They have family that they need to be fair to. They have personal concerns. They have hurts that the PASTOR mask may hide. Everyone around them is one of the flock and some of those are ornery old sheep. Finding a real friend in that bunch is really hard. Even their own families don't really understand the way their hearts are made. And yet, that pastor loves the flock in a way that is hard, actually impossible, to define.

Pastor Appreciation Month. If the church is giving a gift, donate to it. If the church is giving a card with the gift, sign it. Send your own card, too. Come down off your little pedestal and reach out to this person. Be kind.

Blessings!    

This blog centers around a tiny little mark on the Indiana map. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of spending some time in Urbana, Indiana, let me explain. Imagine the absolute smallest town you know. Urbana is smaller. The people are great. All farmland and everyone there has a connection to the earth. It is a place where people pray for rain and each other. If you go into the local post office (only open three hours a day) you will know everyone there and there will be at least one relation. It was my joy to be there for seven years. Now, Urbana was not always a bump in the road. It was once a bustling little town. But Kroger's and Walmart in the next town over made the little stores and shops obsolete. However, there was a past. In my e-mail giving the link to the blog, I mentioned the Big Gun, who just happens to be from Urbana. So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you this blog written by Mrs. Tami Overman!  

URBANA—There Are a Million Stories in This Little Town. This is Just One.

Growing up in this little town in the seventies was the best of times. We had Cub Scouts baseball games, rode bikes to our friend’s houses to hang out, and played basketball in the hayloft in the barn. We enjoyed Jon and Virginia Hansing’s Sinclair Station for Nehi Pop, and Push Up Pops, and Myrval Kratzer’s Barber Shop for penny candy. We had the Urbana Post Office where some met to chat (i.e. me and my now husband). We had best friends and then we had acquaintances, but everyone knew who everyone was. We all had one thing in common, we were The Urbana Kids and that in itself was a bond for sure.

There were two great churches in town; The Grace United Methodist Church and St. Peter’s United Church of Christ. The winters were spent at Grace, and the summers at UCC. Not everyone in town attended those churches on Sunday. Some went to Wabash and others didn’t attend anywhere. There were 2 sides of the RR tracks. I lived on one side, and my Grandparents lived on the other.

As happens in life, we all grew up and went our separate ways. Some stayed in town, others moved away. Some led fairly good, normal lives, others struggled. Some stayed in touch and others we never heard from again. Fast forward several years and the invention of social media and ways to find and reach out to those that you haven’t seen in many, many years. Maybe even those that you knew and never really chatted with, due to age or other circumstances, but here they were, and they were most certainly still one of “The Urbana Kids.”

One “Urbana boy” in particular, “Mitch”, who was a few years younger than me, struggled in one way or another as a kid. He spent a lot of time out of the classroom and got to know the principal and office secretary pretty well. He didn’t attend either of our churches and I don’t believe he attended anywhere. I never knew what happened to him or his sibling, until; you guessed it, social media. I got a friend request a few years ago and decided to accept. I saw where he had a child, and a grandchild. He was a truck driver and had moved several states away. He drove the open road with his dog. But then after a very short time, I thought oh boy, why did I do this? He was very boisterous about politics on his social media account and even made some posts and sent some private messages that made me personally uncomfortable. He lost several friends over these things. I never unfriended him, but was very cautious. I personally know others who “were absolutely done with him!” Maybe I was just too nice, or maybe me not unfriending him was a God thing?

I realized he had disappeared from my feed and I wasn’t seeing any more posts. Then recently he appeared again and his posts were different. Very different. They were almost “sad in their nature.” I silently felt sorry for him. I liked some of his posts and even commented on a couple of them. I also noticed there were no political posts. NONE. Hum?

Fast forward to this past Sunday, I was sitting in the same little church in Urbana where the Pastor talked in the sermon about helping people who were struggling, and making sure we tell them about Jesus, so we have no regrets. Then he changed up the last song of the service with a different one, “The Altar and the Door” by Casting Crowns. WOW. That song hit me! It hit me so much that I looked it up immediately after church and posted it on my own Facebook feed. Now, skip ahead to Monday evening at 9:06 p.m. when my phone dings. I glance down to see, “How are you, Tami? I could handle a friend to talk to.” Just when I was thinking I can’t answer this, I have laundry, and dishes, and bills to pay and it is getting late, and I wanted to go to bed earlier tonight.………God nudged me and said, remember yesterday’s sermon? Remember the song you posted? So, here I was, replying back to Mitch and chatting until after 10:30 p.m. He used phrases like “I am a train wreck,” “not in a good place,” “at a very weak point,” and “I am lost bad.” I learned he had wrecked his semi in March and had died, but was brought back to life! I learned he was so happy his dog lived through that wreck also, as it was all he really had left. I finally drummed up the courage to ask, ”How do you feel about God?” From there, I learned he was a believer, but he was asking me why he was even still alive? I told him he was so capable of much more than he thought, and he could do hard things. I asked him to start praying and ask God to help him, and I would pray for him too. I even got him to laugh at one point. We finally said goodnight and I did pray for him. The next day at noon I got a message from him, thanking me for being a friend and caring enough to take the time to talk to him. He said I truly made him feel better about himself and he felt better about life. I realized we really were friends, we weren’t just acquaintances from the same little small town; we are The Urbana Kids, still to this day, and I am OK with that.

Funny thing is, I wasn’t even going to be in church on Sunday, but plans changed last minute. If I had not been, would I have been so willing to give up my time and answer that message? If the Pastor hadn’t have jumped out of the Book of John to start a new series and changed up the last song, would I have given up my time to answer that message? What if I had not answered it? There are a lot of what ifs. I think those were all God things. On Tuesday, I spent the night doing laundry, and paying bills, and it was all just fine. And, after I read my former Pastor, Larry’s blog, I reached out to ask him to pray for my friend too, and told him his story. He said he would also pray and then he said, “You need to write next week’s blog……….

Back in 1994 we had finished a long ministry at a church in Warren, Ohio. At the request of our denomination at the time, I had gone to a church in crisis to deal with a nasty little issue. It was something that was very difficult, something that, even though I had been trained for it, I would have been happy to have avoided forever. But we jumped in with both feet. Very stressful.

One night Marsha showed me an ad in a local paper saying they wanted someone to report on high school football games that fall. I had no hobbies and no way to blow off steam from the pressures of pastoring that wayward little church. Wouldn’t it be fun to do something a little different for a while? It would only involve ten Friday nights. It also only paid $20 a game but they covered gas and you got into the games free and got to sit in the press box. I thought for a bit and then thought, sure, why not? And soon I had a genuine press pass and a pencil and I was a sports reporter. One thing led to another I ended up doing all high school sports in that town for an entire year, which wasn’t real fun. But I learned some things, one of which was that girls’ sports were not the same as they had been when I had been in school. Girls no longer slapped at volleyballs or squealed and tried to get away from errant basketballs. The first girl’s sport I covered was a volleyball game. Girls would slam into the floor diving for balls. One girl crashed into the stands going after a ball. They were fearless to stand in front of a spike. I was completely mesmerized. It was 20 years after high school for me and girls were different. They were every bit as tough as the guys. Actually, I think that if I was in high school now I might be a little scared to date.

There were two girls on the same volleyball and basketball teams who went over six feet. They dominated. They were great. They were unstoppable. In every game I covered I was completely impressed. Rebounds, elbows flying, bodies knocking others out of the way. It was hard to think of these girls as kids who had normal issues and concerns. They were scoring machines.
One evening I went by the school to talk to the coach. I was walking into the gym after practice and a lot of the players were leaving. I smiled and nodded at them but then one of the two really fine players stopped me. Everything about girls’ sports made me feel out of place and now standing there looking up at a 6’2” girl just seemed surreal. But she wasn’t stalking the basketball court now, looking for someone to devour. Now she was a pretty blond girl who just happened to be 6’2”. Like most blonds when they are a little embarrassed, this girl was blushing a deep crimson red. Oddly, that made me feel better. She kind of stammered a little, but she wanted to thank me for writing a favorable article about her. I told her that I had only reported the facts, nothing more. But then I remembered that this was just a kid, a senior in high school who would be going out to meet the world soon. “Grace, I want to tell you something. There are college recruiters in the stands at every game. Don’t be bowled over. You have a great talent, but you are a greater person. Go to school on that scholarship, get what you can get but keep your mind focused. You are Grace Bennett, be the best Grace Bennett you can be.” She smiled a little and said she would be the best she could be and off she walked.

The church situation had just been temporary. Work out the problem and move on. I had been called to another church father away, and mt reporting career had ended. I wasn't around to hear what had happened. Grace got her scholarship and then Grace got pregnant. I felt bad for Grace. I was a little disappointed, but she soon slipped from my mind. I knew she never went to college. One mistake, one bad choice…….

Eleven years later Marsha and I were in that small town where I had written for the paper. We were sitting at a table in a small eatery. A tall blond woman walked in with a tall blond boy of about ten. She handed him a few quarters and he ran off to join his friends in the arcade and she went to get their meals. It took me a second to realize I wasn’t just seeing a Mom, I was seeing Grace and her child. She got their food then called to him and he left his buddies and came over to eat. She prayed a heartfelt prayer before they ate. They chatted and laughed over their meal, enjoying the food and each other. It was a sweet scene. When she saw me, she smiled a little and turned red. As they were leaving they passed our table. I said, “Hi Grace.” She turned a little redder and said, “HI, Mr. Wade.”

The thing that pleased me was that she hadn’t let that one mistake beat her at life. It changed the course of her life, yes, but she had risen above it. She was neat and clean and her son was neat and clean. They got into a nearly new SUV in the parking lot. Not only did she and her son have a good relationship, but his friends seemed to like her, as well. She could have had a very different life, but she wound up embracing the life she had. She became the best Grace Bennett she could be.

Because they had prayed over their meal, I knew that the Lord was involved in their lives. So long as the Lord is there, Life doesn’t have to beat us down.

Blessings to you all.

I used to start my day with comics. I have become much more mature now in my retirement, so I go to various liberal and conservative news feeds. Actually, it is funnier. I started doing this to see both sides of the issues.

Trending liberal headlines for September 10,2024.

Thirty of the Richest Donors Funneling Money to Donald Trump (the point being to show who you must hate), College Coach Gives Updates on Injured Players, Eleven Christmas Crochet Patterns, Major Trucking Company with 480 Drivers Shuts Down, The Worst College Football Coaches, How Much Money OnlyFan Creators Make, The Passing of James Earl Jones, Bankruptcies Push Up Store Closures, The Best Ice Cream in Every State, Apple and Google Lose EU Court Fights.   

Trending conservative headlines for September 10,2024.

RFK Shifts Course Ahead of Tonight's Debate, James Carville Gives Prediction on Tonight's Debate, Mom Slams Border Policies that Freed Daughter's Alleged Killers, Delta Plane Involved in Collision at Alanta Airport, Americans Want Answers About Dwindling Bank Accounts at Tonight's Debate, Top US Surgeon Breaks Ranks Concerning Gender Surgery for Minors.  

At first reading, you can see that liberal newsfeeds on this day are much 'fluffier' than the conservative feeds. For me, the only article that interested me was the passing of James Earl Jones. Truely a man blessed with talent. Another thing you see just reading the liberal news feed is that there is not ONE story about the presidential debate. I can only assume that their readership is more concerned about ice cream and Christmas crocheted items than the future of their country. Tomorrow they will tell how VP Harris laid waste to Trump and all will be well.

On the conservative side of things, half the stories were about the debate. Reading just the liberal news you wouldn't even know there was a debate, while the conservative news seems to direct you to watch the debate. The other conservative news concerns 'hard' issues.

This, alone, tells a lot about our country today.

However, there is one other news story that has been ignored on September 10, 2024 by both liberal and conservative. The last time this country rallied together as one people. The events of September 11, 2001.

Or nation was attacked on OUR own soil. It didn't matter if the dead and the dying were Democrats or Republicans. They were OUR people. When the Republican president went before a joint session of Congress, he was met with a prolonged standing ovation because he was OUR president. When people gathered in churches all over the country that night, it didn't matter if they were liberal or conservative, they were heat sick and they needed to call upon OUR God. We said we would never forget, yet we have forgotten. In just twenty three years it has slipped from the public mind.  

This, alone, tells a lot about our country today.

Commerce happens on rivers, preferably deep, slow moving rivers. One of the things about the United States that gives it a huge edge over other countries as far as growth and wealth, is the extensive river system. This is not as vital now as it was during the pre-automotive age, but it is still important. Near where I live now there is the Grand River, which compared to other rivers is not really deep and is not really 'grand' but back in the day it had great significance. For much of its length it was dredged out and smaller sailing vessels could go quite aways up the river from Lake Erie and dock and wait for small barges to come down the river loaded with furs and flour and corn and lumber and whatever could be sold. Lake Erie connected to other cities via the water and commerce thrived. 

Along these waterways, one river would flow into another and make a larger river. The confluence of two rivers would often give rise to towns at the meeting point and trade would flourish there. These towns often took on the name Port, as in West Port or Reynolds Port or Logans Port, usually named after the first person who set up shop there. Trading posts were established, a saloon was organized, various shops would spring up, some industries and, eventually, a church would begin. Often there would be multiple churches. Not separated so much by faith or denomination, but more often in the early days, by language. Settlers came from all over the world to tap into the abundance that flowed on the rivers.

These rivers needed to be deep enough and wide enough to handle barges. Some rivers, like the Mississippi, were wide enough already. But others had to be dredged out where they ran shallow and widened where they narrowed. This also served to slow the speed of the flow. For all the rivers that were able to be used in this way, there were many other rivers and streams that just moved to fast to handle barges. They might be wide enough and deep enough, but the flow of the water would just be too much.

This would usually happen with rivers flowing down from a mountain. Once in a valley the river would slow and could be used. Sometimes canals would be built around the rapids and sometimes dams would be built. Man is ingenious in ways that make him prosperous.

But there are places in this world that man simply cannot tame, usually because it just isn't worth the trouble. Decades ago I was told of such a place. A place that was so wild that no effort had ever been made to bend it to the will of man. I was told how to reach it, but it would be a serious walk through a thick wood. Follow the game trail. Hard going, but worth it. Maybe if I had been a little older and had grown a little cynical, I would have shrugged it off as an old timer having a little fun with a young man. However, if that had been the case, I would have missed out on an incredible sight and life defining moment. 

I parked on the side of the road where the old timer had told me to park. Emerging from the car, I heard a distant roar. I zipped up my jacket (it was early spring) and entered the woods. Right about where the old guy had told me, I found the game trail. As I followed it and descended down that part of the mountain. Actually, it was a pretty easy walk down, but getting back nearly killed me. Anyway, as I made my way down the trail, the sound got louder. Then I noticed another sound. The same as the first, but a little deeper pitch. An interesting sound, familiar, but different, too. I could tell I was going to emerge from the forest soon because I could see the opening through the trees. I could also feel a vibration in my feet.

And then.....I was clear of the timber. A river was running violently downhill, carrying the weight of the snow melt further up-stream. Because of the amount of the flow, the river was almost to the banks, but not quite. How many ages had cut this river? It seemed old and new at the same time.

I marked the spot where I had emerged so that I could find it when I came back and then I followed the river. As I did, I could hear the other roar of rushing water getting louder. And then, at a high point overlooking the river I was following, I saw the point where another river, much larger than the one I was following, ran into the first river. This second river was larger than the first and running faster. The mountain it had just come down was higher and steeper. It also didn't seem as dirty as the first, which I attributed to the second river probably have more of a rocky bottom along the way. Where the two rivers came together there was a twisting and turning and quick whirlpools that came and went. Then, as I looked down the river further, it settled into just one, great, fast moving river. I watched for a long while and then turned and headed back.

I had been told of this place because I might find it interesting. But what I took from it was the thought that here I was; young and determined to make a name for myself in the ministry. Everything stretched before me and all things were possible. But, in spite of my head long dash to greatness, I was operating under my own power. Somewhere something bigger than me, something that sang the same song but sang it deeper and with more resonance, had to enter my life and take control. In my pondering, I realized the second river was the Holy Spirit. I might struggle, I might fight Him at first, but if I let Him take control, we could be great together.

And so it has been. His path was not the path I had worked out, but His path was better. With each passing day I can see the river slowing down as it nears the sea, and I am content. Since joining with His plan, good things have happened. Not necessarily in my personal life, but certainly in the life placed before me.

Some are hesitant to allow Him to lead. The cost can be high. But His plan is the best plan.

Blessings.

The words of a song speak to me far more than the music. I have always wanted to sit down with the old time writers and just talk about their inspiration.

One of the songs from Sunday's worship service at my apartment complex was written by Horatio Spafford and the music was penned by the great Gospel composer, Philip Bliss. The poem Horatio Spafford (what a great name!) wrote in 1873 has always stirred my spirit, usually making me fight the tears. It affects me like no other song.

Horatio grew up in Troy, New York. The Hudson River runs through Troy and there it is slow and wide. Later he would become very familiar with the Atlantic Ocean. The first two lines of his poem are, When peace like a river attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll. Oh my, I have sat next to peaceful water and felt a deep comfort and I have sat next to rolling waves with the sound and vibration and felt the pain and sadness of the moment in my life! I identify with the words! Then, Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul. Yes! Whether peaceful or roaring, it is water, the most necessary thing for life. Jesus, the Living Water! He has control.

Then the second verse. Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come. Certainly, we have felt Satan. The closer we get to the Lord and the more we serve Him, the more we feel the Satanic 'buffet.' But there are many trials that are not of Satan. They are the things that come in life. The Lord never said trials would not come, just the opposite. We will struggle. However, whether the difficulty comes from Satan or just from life, the Lord walks with us. The verse continues; Let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, And has shed His own blood for my soul! Christ knows our situation and our struggle! We have won! He has taken care of all of it. We can be in dark days, but we know we are still in the Light.

Then the third verse. This verse is the one that gets me. This verse infuses me with hope and praise. My sin---oh the bliss of this glorious thought--- My sin, not in part but the whole, The Roman Catholics have different levels of sin. Murder is worse than adultery and so forth. While a Protestant might reject that, the Protestant will still justify their sin. "I took some paper clips from work, and a stapler, but that is not so bad. They can afford it." But the Biblical reality is that the simplest sin will send us to Hell. When Horatio says 'my sin, not in part but the whole,' he is talking all of it. Every sin ever. The verse continues; Is nailed to the Cross, and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, Oh my soul! Horatio understands that his sin is horrible before the Lord, but he also understands that the Christ on the Cross is the same Christ who rose from the grave and sits on the right hand of God and pleads his case. Horatio's Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord, Oh my soul! is more powerful and more gut wrenching than any praise song from today. You can disagree, but that is my take.

But it doesn't end there. There are three more verses, but in most hymnals verses four and five are not added. Verse six, the last verse, is the verse I want to end on. And Lord haste the day when the faith shall be sight, Horatio had faith that Christ died for him. Now he is asking that the Lord, sooner than later, cause that faith that he feels so deeply, to turn into reality. He wants to see the Savior! The clouds be rolled back as a scroll Horatio was a lawyer. At that time the verdict in a trial was on a scroll that would be rolled open and the verdict read. And then the verdict, The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, Even so, it is well with my soul! The verdict is in.

Horatio was born in Troy, New York and grew up there. He studied and became a lawyer and moved to Chicago to practice law, all the while being faithful to his Lord. He was known as a fine, upstanding Christian and was friends with D.L. Moody. He became quite successful and began to buy properties. Then in 1871 the great Chicago fire happened. Over 100,000 people were left homeless and Horatio lost most of the properties he and his wife owned. Even so, Horatio and his wife Anna poured their financial wealth into aiding those who had lost everything. 

In 1873, Moody wanted Horatio to join him in England for a series of evangelistic crusades. Horatio decided to take Anna and their four daughters as a break from a rebuilding Chicago. He sent his wife and daughters on ahead while he stayed behind to tend to one last business matter. While crossing the Atlantic, the ship his family was on was rammed by another ship. Their ship went down in twelve minutes. Anna was one of the few survivors. She was pulled unconscious from the ocean. She lived, but the daughters, ages 11, 9, 5 and 2 all perished. The survivors were taken to Cardiff, South Wales, where Anna sent a telegram to Horatio telling him of the awful tragedy. He left immediately for England to be with his wife. On his crossing the captain of the ship Horatio was on, had him come to the chart cabin. There the captain pointed out on the chart where Horatio's daughters had perished. They were crossing that spot at that very moment. The story goes that he returned to his cabin and wrote the poem, "It Is Well With My Soul." When sorrows like sea billows roll........