All is well.

A few weeks ago, I was at the pumpkin patch with my daughter when my phone needed some pastoral counseling.

I accidentally dialed my pastor (y’all have your pastor on speed dial, right?).

He accidentally hung up on me.

And then I got two urgent texts full of profuse apology and genuine concern.

No, no, I texted back.

No emergency.  All is well.

Friends, it’s true.

All is well.

Yes, there are those moments when we sing Little One’s lullaby right there in church followed by a whole sermon on the redemption ache and then closed out with a little Laura Story.

And, yes, right at that moment I am a mess.  A hot, bawling mess.

But I think folks expect me to be a basket case at all times.

And I’m not.

I’m really not.

And here’s why…

I know with unwavering certainty that all is well.

It’s a wellness that has just about nothing to do with me.  Or my circumstances.  Or the messy, broken world that I am called to love.

Nope.

It’s a wellness that rests squarely on my belief that my God is big enough, powerful enough to handle it all.  The cries of the little ones.  The stories of their mamas and daddies.  The voices of the overworked, underpaid social workers who are doing the best they can.  The heart of my baby as she continues to learn lessons of trust and love and family.

As I reread that last paragraph, I realize that it might sound trite.  Simplistic.  Naïve.

I hope, if you know me, you will hear my heart, my life, beyond the words.

Because I will still have my moments.

My hot, bawling mess moments.

But I want you to know tonight that I have no doubt.

Today may be dark.  Heavy.

Or not.

But ultimately?

Ultimately

All is well.

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