Recently the plight of others’ suffering and pain has been brought into high relief before me. It can be overwhelming to try and process when, in a short period of time, a friend loses his spouse, another friend is diagnosed with cancer, and another loses three close relatives within twenty months.

Such an onslaught, alas, can stir up sadness, pain, anxiety, and even the loss of hope.

I know that I am not alone. If you linger enough in almost any person’s life, you quickly discover hidden scars. But sometimes, it is not scars we discover—areas where wounds have healed—but wounds themselves that have not healed and are still bleeding. It is very difficult to climb out of the valley of anxiety, hopelessness, and negativity. And yes, as is often the case, we find that wounded people have a way of wounding others. Perhaps that is not the intention, but such wounding is often a strange and painful cry for help. Yet, in the end, the reflex to hurt others only continues the cycle of pain, alienation, and division.

So, what do we do?

The other day I heard from my forty-year-old son that he was having chest pains. He called to ask how his grandpa died. Yes, it was a heart attack when he was in his fifties. My wife, Nancy, and I tried to stay in close touch during that day as our son was moved from station to station in the emergency room of the hospital to discover if this was something serious. Serious? I was so anxious I could do nothing but imagine the worst: our daughter-in-law, a widow with three children? Could this be? We already have a daughter who is a widow with three children.

After numerous tests, thankfully, it became evident that, our very athletic son does not have heart problems.

And yet, pulling myself out of anxiety to hope and joy (like for so many), almost seemed a betrayal or denial of reality. With all of this going on around us, especially being reminded constantly of our mortality, how can one smile and feign to be happy?

In the midst of my interior struggle, I was reminded of a song:

When peace like a river, attends my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, You have taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Written by the Chicago lawyer and businessman, Horatio Spafford, in 1873, the story is well-known by worship leaders in the United States. Spafford lost much of his fortune in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, and then the economic downturn of 1873 just about did him in. Nonetheless, he planned to go with his family to England to help with the evangelistic work of D.L. Moody. However, business concerns held him back, and he sent his wife Anna and four daughters ahead on the French iron steamship, Ville du Havre. Tragically, the ship was accidentally rammed by the Scottish clipper, Loch Earn. Anna survived, but all daughters died in the cold Atlantic waters. As the story goes, upon arriving in England, Anna sent a simple note back to Horatio: “Saved alone . . .”

Amid such overwhelming loss of money, buildings, and all four of his daughters, Spafford sailed past the place of the ship’s accident. With the “sea billows” rolling all around him, he penned, “when sorrows like sea billows roll . . . it is well with my soul.” How could such a thing be true?

It is true, I believe, because after many tears and searching he settled in the gracious arms of a loving God and remembered the suffering of God himself who understands and stood with him amid his sorrow. It is a severe and yet vital theology that is strong enough to withstand the suffering, slander, and selfishness that this world delivers.

Many of us have suffered deeply the loss of loved ones and the betrayal of close ones. And at some point, we look Jesus in the face, see his tears, and are touched by this profound theology of the suffering God.

Though it may take time, and it may take effort, God does call us back to ourselves. When he does, we realize that we are called back to his life, for as Christians we are “in Christ.”

And, whether it is a sudden suffering, close call, betrayal, or loss, we can do what Paul says, to think on these things:  “. . . whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (Philippians 4:18, NIV). If it were not possible, or not healing, Holy Scripture would not command it.

I do not manifest such lofty thoughts perfectly. But most days now I wake up with the knowledge that we have another day to “put on Christ” and seek to be a vessel of blessing for others, even as a broken, incomplete vessel myself. I don’t know what tomorrow may bring, but I know I have today. With that, I do not need to feign happiness because I am content, even hopeful!

Dr. Scott W. Sunquist, president of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, is author of the “Attentiveness” blog. He welcomes comments, responses, and good ideas.