It is well

'saying,"Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me.  Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done." And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him.' Luke 22:42-43

These words jumped out at me as I opened the Word.  Seeing as though I just finished asking God, as He knows the outcome of the specific situation, to spare my heart if it was not ever to get better.  To spare my heart the pain that has ailed me my entire life.  I so desire to wrap it up, put a pretty bow on it and be done.  But God says no. I may not understand it entirely, but He has shown me that so much of the beauty He has made in my heart is a result of this pain.  He is using it to refine my heart of all  impurities and iniquities and for that I thank Him and welcome the storm.  Lord not my will, but yours, be done!  It's not wrong to want to be spared this pain, as Christ himself had that desire, but He was in full submission to the Father.  God did not spare Him, but He strengthened Him.  Because He didn't spare Him, I now can lift my head and hands in victory over these obstacles.  God may not spare my heart of this ongoing pain that haunts me, but He has given me strength to stand, strength to love, strength to forgive, victory over anger and I know there will come a day when I can finally put a bow on it and be done.  But I'm not home yet, and until then my heart will fully submit to His perfect will. 

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.