THE CHAPLAIN’S SATCHEL
Words of Hope, Stories We Sing, Reflections for Every Season
Do Not Lose Hope
Feeling sad or hopeless often starts quietly. It can happen when we are disappointed, when we lose someone we love, or when we feel tired of being strong. Many seniors understand this feeling. They deal with bodily pain, old memories, and many life changes they did not ask for.
I once visited a woman who told me, “I feel like the world has moved on and left me behind.” She did not need a lecture; she just needed someone to be with her. As we sat together, she began to feel calm. Her life did not change in that moment, but she felt better because she knew she was not forgotten.
God is not far away when we are sad. He listens to us. He cares about our tears. Hopelessness might tell us we are alone, but God’s presence shows us we are loved. Even when hope feels small, God is near to comfort us.
Today, remember this truth: God is not waiting for you to “feel better” before He comes to you. He is already here. He holds you with love and gives you peace.
— Romans 15:13
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The Chaplain’s Satchel arrives in your inbox twice each month—bringing devotions, hymn stories, and timeless wisdom to encourage your journey.
Stories We Sing
When Grief Writes Songs: “It Is Well With My Soul”
Horatio Spafford stood on the deck of a ship crossing the Atlantic in November 1873, staring at the dark water below. The captain had just told him they were passing over the spot where, days earlier, another vessel had sunk. In those depths lay the bodies of his four daughters—Annie, Maggie, Bessie, and Tanetta.
In that moment of unimaginable sorrow, Spafford pulled out paper and began to write: “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll—whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.”
1. He Needed to Declare Truth Over Feeling. Spafford didn’t feel peace in that moment—he chose to proclaim it. Peace isn’t a feeling we wait for. It’s a truth we claim even when everything inside us screams otherwise.
2. He Needed to Find Meaning in the Meaningless. There was no redemptive “reason” his daughters died. Spafford had to choose whether their deaths would be the final word or whether there was a larger story.
3. He Needed to Shift His Foundation. The hymn’s most striking verse reveals where Spafford found stability: “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.”
4. He Needed to Create Something Redemptive From His Pain. Spafford took his grief and forged it into something that has comforted millions. His pain became a gift to strangers across centuries.
For those facing financial ruin: Spafford lost everything in the Chicago Fire. His hymn reminds us that peace isn’t found in what we possess but in who possesses us.
For those carrying unbearable loss: Whether it’s the death of a loved one, a devastating diagnosis, or a betrayal that shatters your world, Spafford shows us that peace can exist alongside sorrow.
For those seeking purpose in suffering: Your story might be the lifeline someone else desperately needs. Spafford’s greatest legacy wasn’t his wealth or success—it was what he created from his darkest moment.
For those questioning where to anchor: What can’t be taken from you? Career can be eliminated. Relationships can end. Health can fail. Only what’s rooted in Christ remains unshakeable.
Verse 1
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Refrain
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.
Verse 2
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
Verse 3
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!
Spafford teaches us that resilience isn’t about being untouched by tragedy. It’s about choosing, in the midst of tragedy, where we’ll anchor our souls. The hymn endures because it doesn’t promise that sorrow will end—it promises that peace can exist even while the sea billows still roll.
Reflections for Every Season
Honoring the Legacy (70s-90s)You Are Not Done Yet: Finding Purpose in Your Senior Years
At 82, Faye exclaimed, “New beginnings don’t stop just because you get old.” She had started learning to paint the year before—her very first time holding a brush at 81. “I’m terrible at it,” she said with a chuckle. “But every time I sit down with those paints, I feel alive. Like there’s still more of me to discover.”
After losing numerous friends, Faye felt as though most chapters were behind her. “But God keeps giving me blank pages,” she said quietly. “New mornings. New mercies. New chances to begin again.”
Consider Moses, called at age 80 to his life’s greatest work. Or Caleb, who at 85 declared, “I am still as strong today as I was… Now therefore give me this hill country” (Joshua 14:10-12). Or Anna, the 84-year-old prophetess positioned for one of history’s most significant moments.
The pattern is clear: God does not retire His servants. He refines them.
Your Purpose Now
Your presence is ministry. When you show up, you bring decades of lived faith. People watch how you handle aging, loss, and limitation. Your peaceful acceptance and continued trust is powerful witness.
Your prayers are powerful. You have tested, proven, unshakeable faith. You can intercede with the confidence of someone who has a lifetime of evidence that God hears and acts.
Practical Ways Forward
Mentor intentionally. Share what you’ve learned with younger generations. Meet for coffee. Tell your stories.
Pray systematically. Create a prayer plan. Your prayers are real, powerful, effective work.
Write your spiritual legacy. What do you want your family to know about God? Write it down. Don’t let your wisdom die with you.
Every morning you wake up, God is saying, “Not yet. We are not finished. I still have purposes for you.” Your final chapters can be your most fruitful—not in the world’s eyes, but in God’s. You are not done.
Sustaining the Heart (50s-60s)Who Am I Now? Rediscovering Yourself in the Middle Years
At 57, Donna stirred her coffee absently and said, “I don’t know who I am anymore. For thirty years, I was daughter, wife, mother. I moved from the Philippines to care for my husband’s aging parents while raising our children. Now my in-laws have passed. My kids moved away for work. My parents back home are aging. I’m exhausted. Who am I if I’m not caring for everyone?”
If you’re nodding, you’re not alone. The middle years bring an identity crisis nobody prepares you for. Your role as parent is changing. Your role with aging parents is reversing. Your body is changing. Career is shifting. All happening simultaneously.
What You’re Grieving
You’re mourning genuine losses: your younger body, the career you envisioned, the parents you remember, the energy you used to feel. These aren’t minor disappointments—they’re meaningful losses.
Here’s permission: It’s okay to grieve. Jesus wept at Lazarus’s tomb. He gave space to loss. You can do the same.
Rediscovering Questions
What do you love? Not what others need—what brings you joy?
Who did God make you to be? Your gifts, personality, unique way of reflecting God’s image?
What have you always wanted to try? This season might be when you finally have space.
Six months later, Donna shared: “I joined a calligraphy class—something I loved as a girl but gave up. I’m learning I’m more than just the caregiver. I’m still me. I’d just forgotten for a while. This season is making me into someone I couldn’t have become in my 30s. I wouldn’t have chosen this, but I’m not wasting it either.”
You are known by God, loved by God, held by God. Everything else is transition. And God is faithful in transitions.
Inspiring the Future (20s-40s)What Kind of Elder Do You Want to Become?
Picture two elderly people. The first is bitter—every conversation circles back to complaints. Their presence drains energy. People visit out of obligation. The second is joyful. They listen more than lecture. Their faith has been tested and held. People seek them out.
Which one do you want to be at 80?
Character compounds over decades. So does bitterness. The choices you’re making today—how you handle disappointment, whether you forgive or hold grudges, whether you stay curious or become rigid, whether you deepen your faith or coast—all of this is forming the 80-year-old version of you.
Life-Giving Traits
Humility – They share, not lecture. They’ve been wrong enough to hold opinions with open hands.
Forgiveness – Nothing ages faster than unforgiveness. They chose to release offenses.
Build Now
Curiosity – They never stopped learning, growing, exploring.
Relationships – They invested in marriage, children, friendships over decades.
Starting Today
Spiritual disciplines – Build daily rhythms of prayer and Bible reading.
Address issues now – Don’t carry wounds for 40 more years.
The 80-year-olds you most admire aren’t accidents. They’re the fruit of decades of faithfulness. Forty years from now, you can be the elder everyone wants to be around. Or you can be the elder people avoid. The choice is yours. And you’re making it today.
Weekend Blessing
may hope hold you gently.
May the quiet truth of God’s presence steady you
more than the noise of your worries.
When you cannot see the way ahead,
may you rest in the One who sees it all.
And when your hands grow weary of holding on,
may you feel His hands holding you instead.
This weekend, breathe slowly, pray simply, and trust deeply—
for the God who began a good work in you
is still at work, even now.
“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me.” — Psalm 138:8
— Chaplain Noel | GrayHairsAndGlory.com
💭 Reflect This Week
What has God been teaching you this week? Take a moment to write down one blessing you’ve received, one prayer that’s been answered, or one truth that’s brought you peace.
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The Chaplain’s Satchel is published twice monthly.
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