All Shall Be Well

We can be assured that God’s love indeed means that all will be well, but here and now this truth must be held in faith rather than full understanding.

Julian of Norwich

A dear friend invited me to join her on a two-night silent retreat at a Benedictine monastery in December. It was perfectly timed as I was surfacing from a painful conflict with a friend and an intense season with a growing ministry. I was wrestling with realities I couldn’t control and questions that weren’t being answered.

It’s been a dry season with little sense of leading or emotion in my spiritual life—not a dark night, but perhaps a “gray afternoon of the soul.” I went on the retreat with no expectations (hence, no disappointments) but longed to feel a fresh sense of God’s presence and leading. For the friends who know us well, their first question was, did we “cheat” and chat? No, although we were given a reprieve for two of the meal times.  And we followed the advice of a friend who had been on a silent retreat, “Don’t eat raw carrots during dinner.”

We joined the rhythm of the monastery, early to bed, early to rise, simple meals, set times of prayer, and silence. I took long, quiet walks in the monastery’s hundreds of acres of woods and trails using my camera as a way to stop and see. I slept. I journaled. I listened for God. That was the hardest challenge.

God did meet me as quietly as my surroundings with two simple messages. I’ll write about the second in a coming blog.  But here is the first:

All Shall Be Well. As I walked and waited, prayed and pondered, I heard a quiet reassurance, “All shall be well.” And that one simple, but not ‘pat’ sentence, allowed me to breathe.  These words originally came from Julian of Norwich, a 14th century Christian mystic who wrote and counseled during the dark days of the Black Plague and 100-Year War. As a mystic, she longed for deeper intimacy with Christ and struggled with the big questions such as why God allowed sin in the first place and what was the fate of those who had never heard the Gospel. She never received a direct answer to her questions, except to be told that whatever God does is done in love, and therefore "that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."

Like Julian, I too received no specific answers to my questions. No clear direction. Except to be re-directed to the truth I needed most to hear.

God is love. Therefore.

Julian wrote in her Divine Revelations“For some of us believe that God is almighty and may do all; and that He is all-wisdom and can do all; but that He is all-love, and will do all–there we fail. And it is this unknowing that most holdeth back God’s lovers, as I see it.”

But how can I live with “unknowing,” with unanswered questions and unfulfilled longings? Again the answer comes back to love. A God who chooses to create and love, a God who longs for relationship, is a God who also lives with longing.

“God and we must live with longing if love is the life we choose . . .  We accept the pain of longing, for it is also joy.”

So God has directed me in my struggles and questions. Choose love.  And choose to trust that God is loving and therefore, “All Shall Be Well”—not as some shallow platitude, but a truth which acknowledges that all manner of things may not be well at this present moment. There will be storms and dark nights and gray afternoons but, ultimately, the light will break through.

As worries or weariness take me down, breathing in the truth that “All Shall Be Well” doesn’t fix my problems, but fixes my thoughts on the One who loves. The one who proved His love for us by sending His own son to die for us.

I don’t only “breathe in” this statement but sing it out. Many artists have written songs on All Shall Be Well. My favorite version is by Andrew Peterson.

You may not have the option to go on a retreat, but pause in the middle of your busy life and consider:

What is the question you most wrestle with before God and where in your life do you most long to hear “All Shall Be Well?” Photography thanks to Bill Carroll.

Scroll to the bottom of my blogsite to comment or respond to Thanks again for reading and pondering with me and Julian. I'll post the second "message" in a few days. 

Confessions of a Really Late Bloomer

Late_Bloomer I’m the classic late bloomer.

Picture Saturday Night Live's awkward Catholic girl Mary Katherine Gallagher. Yep. Me. But add braces, freckles, and frizzy hair.

I won’t even delve into the humiliation of non-prom, non-dating, non-social nerd-dom of my high school and college years. Yeah, yeah. I look back now and see God’s protection. I am married to the best man imaginable. And I didn’t have to worry about falling into temptation beforehand. But at the time, it just sucked pure lemon concentrate.

This was followed by years of non-womb blooming, no matter the chemical or surgical interventions. I came to motherhood later than most my friends through adoption. Again, better than I could conceive (literally). But at the time, hard. Still, blooming late is better than not blooming at all.

Now in my way-beyond-birthing-years, I wonder if God may continue with his delayed-time-release, and I will be using my baby’s stroller as my walker.

My late-bloomer bucket list is long: running a marathon, having straight teeth, singing on key. Those skim the surface compared to the most delayed bucket-list desire: writing. I’ve been a corporate and freelance writer for 30-plus years.  But that’s not the kind of writing that’s on my bucket list--writing for myself and whoever may connect with me is. If I had kicked this bucket earlier, I could have been “me-writing” in the pre-blog, pre-social media era. Heck, I could have been in the pre-computer age.

Why not write just for me? Courage.

Diana NyadI watched 64-year-old Diana Nyad’s record-breaking swim from Cuba to Florida after five attempts over 35 years. She first tried this crossing in her swimming prime in 1978. She is not just an endurance swimmer, she is an endurance fail-er and dreamer. I can still see her sobbing in front of millions of viewers as she was pulled out of the water so close to her goal in previous attempts.

As she came out of the water on Florida soil this time, she slurred a shout-out just for me through swollen lips. “I have three messages. One is we should never ever give up. Two is you never are too old to chase your dreams. Three is it looks like a solitary sport but it takes a team.”

Upon hearing of my bucket-list desire to write, one of my diplomatic friends said, “You can still do it, but you don’t have as much time.”

With my friend’s words synchronizing with the ticking of my creative-biological clock, I took my first baby step of courage. I quit my day job. Was that courage, or as Forrest Gump’s mama would say, “Stupid is as stupid does?”

Baby step two: I started writing just for the sake of writing.

Baby step three: I joined a writing group. That’s harder than you think. Hearing "helpful insights" (aka critiques) of your words. But as Diana said, it does take a team.  If for no other reason, to know there are other crazy people out there with the same dream.

Baby step four: I bought all sorts of cute domain names for my blog. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. It’s like how I water ski. I rattle in the turbulence behind the powerboat, speeding my aging process through gravity-shaking and hyper-wrinkling, all because I won’t commit to cross the wake. I’m out there but not really out there.

I’ve been safe for too long. My delay-my-own-dreams tactic is to facilitate other people’s dreams. I’m really good at helping other people be courageous. But it’s no fun teeth-clattering behind the boat, or worse just sitting there watching all my courageous, failing, flailing, dreamer friends who are slaloming behind the ski boat.


Teddy Roosevelt’s famous words about the ‘man in the arena’ serve as a warning, “. . . if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

There are worse things than being a non-foolish, but cold and timid non-bloomer. So I’m posting my first blog to my long-purchased, never-used, cutely named website. Because crashing is better than never crossing the wake.

And blooming is beautiful no matter how late.

Except for the baby stroller part.