Wendy and I found ourselves in a VRBO on Penn Cove in the middle of Whidbey Island. We were wrestling with our future: Where shall we go? Should we make a move back to Washington State? There was uncertainty, sprinkled with more than a little anxiety.
One evening, as we listened to music, a sea otter showed off its athletic prowess just north of our deck. A song began to play: “It Is Well,” sung by Kristene DiMarco. A version based on a hymn written in 1873.
When Peace Like a River
In the dark shadow of the Great Chicago fire, Horatio Spafford, his wife, and their four daughters were scheduled to leave America for England to join D.L. Moody’s evangelistic work. A business-related change of plans sent Anna and their daughters—Annie, Maggie, Bessie, and Tanetta—ahead without Horatio.
While crossing the Atlantic, their ship collided with another vessel and sank rapidly. Anna alone survived. She later sent a brief and heartbreaking telegram: “Saved alone.”
In time, Spafford wrote the remarkable faith-filled hymn “When Peace Like a River” in the midst of the worst that life can bring.
DiMarco’s version starts this way:
Grander earth has quaked before
Moved by the sound of His voice
And seas that are shaken and stirred
Can be calmed and broken for my regardAnd through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And through it all, through it all
It is well
And through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And it is well with me
It is our deepest hope in uncertain moments—moments marked by tears, trauma, loss, and grief.
Where do we focus our eyes in times of crisis and uncertainty?
I think we most often look away.
Or we stare directly into the face of the crisis, where all we can see is wreckage and dust. Worse still, perhaps, we see a marker on a map identifying the place where a ship went down with your four daughters aboard, ranging in age from 12 years to 18 months.
So we see nothing at all, or we look away guardedly, trying to avoid what is too painful for words.
The Awkward Silence of Love
As we come alongside others in overwhelming loss and pain, grief and endless loneliness, resist the temptation to offer clichés or platitudes about death and dying.
Don’t give answers at all—you don’t have answers.
What then? Perhaps resist your instinct to speak. Sit with your friend in the awkward silence of love.
“My eyes are on You.”
Only This
Why focus there? What is to be found? Only this…
- The deep sorrow of One who walked among us long enough to weep Himself.
- The calm presence of One familiar with human suffering and death.
- “I keep the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.”1
- “In my distress, I called upon the Lord; to my God, I cried for help. From his temple, he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears … He reached down from on high; he took me. He drew me out of mighty waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy … The Lord was my support … he delivered me, because he delighted in me.”2
Practice:
Think of someone you know who is carrying grief, uncertainty, or deep loss. Resist the urge to fix, explain, or offer advice. Instead, reach out with a simple invitation: Would it be helpful if I sat with you, listened, or prayed with you?
If you are the one carrying sorrow, spend a few quiet moments with Psalm 16:8 or Psalm 18:6, 16–19. Read the words slowly. Notice which phrase catches your attention. Then sit in silence for five minutes. As thoughts, fears, or unanswered questions arise, gently return to this simple prayer:
“My eyes are on You.”
What do you notice in God’s presence when you stop searching for answers and allow yourself to be held there?
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Keith Anderson, D.Min., is a Faculty Associate for Spirituality and Vocation at VantagePoint3 and President Emeritus of Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. He is the author of several books, including his most recent: On Holy Ground: Your Story of Identity, Belonging and Sacred Purpose (Wipf & Stock, 2024). His other works include Reading Your Life’s Story (IVP, 2016), A Spirituality of Listening (IVP, 2016), and Spiritual Mentoring (IVP, 1999). In his writing, teaching, and mentoring, Keith seeks to set a table for people looking to enter the “amazing inner sanctuary of the soul” in the most ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.
1Psalm 16:8, NRSV
2Psalm 18:6, 16-17a, 18b-19 NRSV