Just Tattoo I’m Sorry Across my Forehead

A word aptly spoken is like apples

of gold in settings of silver.

Proverbs 25:11

Have you ever had one of those days? You know the kind I’m talking about—the day you wished you had just stayed in bed because everything you said or did seemed to come out wrong. I recently had one of those days; as recently as yesterday! I finally told my husband that I should just tattoo I’m sorry across my forehead and forget opening my mouth.

Like me, you have probably discovered that satan loves to beat you up as you ponder your situation. You hear whispers in your ear, “That was stupid” or “Why do you bother opening your mouth” or “Are you ever going to learn”. And, by the end of the day you feel exhausted, beaten down and ready to hide from the world.

But God won’t leave you there! If you are His child, He will drag you out of that pit (sometimes kicking and screaming I don’t want to come) and plant your feet back on solid ground. I’m always amazed at the tools He uses like a grappling hook to latch onto my heart and pull me back to Him. This morning, He used an old hymn.

As I checked a friend’s Face Book page, there was a post which included a short video. Although I am well familiar with the song and the story behind the song in the video, it was a fresh reminder of God’s loving grace and mercy in the midst of trials great or small.

Horatio G. Spafford, a husband, father of five, and prosperous businessman in Chicago in the 1860s, had more than a bad day. Yet, his trust in God did not waiver. In 1870 his four year old son died of scarlet fever. In 1871 his business burned to the ground in the great Chicago fire. In 1873 Horatio sent his wife and four daughters on a ship to Europe. Business matters delayed him, and he promised to follow in a few days. On November 22, 1873, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, the Ville du Havre, struck by another ship, sank. All four daughters died. He received a telegram from his wife saying, “Saved alone…what shall I do…”

Horatio journeyed across the Atlantic to bring his wife home. When the ship was over the wreckage where his daughters were lost, he penned these words:

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.

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!

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.

It is well, with my soul,

It is well, with my soul,

It is well, and it is well, with my soul.

I pray for you today that it is well with your soul.

©Joyce Powell