Is It Well? A Question Of Hope

A legacy and lesson of hope in Home Again.

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It's not often A&D gets pitches from people willing to follow their hypothesis through with a blog post. So when today's guest blogger reached out with a intriguing premise and the desire to work through it, I just couldn't say no!

So, before you begin, learn a little more about Kirsten W.:

I am a researcher of associations. Amazon is my favorite database—where every item is listed alongside “Customers who bought this item also bought,” and “Sponsored products related to this item,” in addition to lists of reviews. But I also love the library, where completely unrelated stories lie next to each other on the shelf, and you learn to expect the unexpected.  
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So, when I picked up the Signed, Sealed, Delivered pilot film one day, browsing about the DVDs, and saw that it was written and produced by the same person who did Touched by an Angel, I said to myself, “oh, it must be decent.” Ha! (That was before I knew the name of Martha Williamson—though I knew the legacy of her stories.) Then I took it home and watched it with my sister…and then my mama…and then my daddy…and even though I had only seen the pilot I trusted the vision enough to go out and buy the series. 

Now I have discovered a blog, and an amazing community of fans and friends. Hello to you all, and thank you for watching and reading.

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The vase. It is the most intriguing object of the Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Home Again, and every story is wrapped around it in some way or another. Even from the very first scene we know: this is a vase of hope. It is a vase that signifies that all is well. In it’s promise of opportunity lies the “biggest dream” of Mary Lou, the salvation of the farm. But in Home Again, the value of home and the function of the family become tied to the welfare of the vase, and the form of “hope” can sometimes masquerade as a false security. So how did the vase get such a prominent role? And what is its true value? For that, we will look at how it is placed in a scene, and—my favorite—the music surrounding it. 

In an early scene we see the vase prominently displayed on the piano, and as Shane reads in the letter that it is called the “just-in-case vase,” we watch how it weathers through times of light and storm right alongside the Kellser family. During these flashbacks, we hear the singing of an old hymn: “It Is Well With My Soul.” 

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.

These flashbacks show us pictures of both:

• Peace—a 1940’s shot of a lighted living room and three generations of Kellser women—and 
• Sorrows—a 1990’s shot of the girls huddling alone in a dark living room, waiting through a storm

These two images, always portraying the vase in its place on the piano, distinctly connect this hymn with the vase, and establish it in our minds as the treasure that it is to the family. When the Kellser girls put the vase in the mail, they no longer have the piano—it has been sold, and there are only memories of the music. But they still have hope, and they write in their letter that “If we can just sell the vase we can pay the bills and mama will feel better before somebody comes to take us away.” And Kim’s own words at the finding of the vase reveal how much they depended on it, because her reaction to the news from Oliver and Shane is immediately, “Do you believe in God, Mr. O’Toole?…Good, because you just might be the answer to our prayers.” Oliver will provide the answer—hero that he is—though no one yet knows what that answer will actually look like.

When the family loses the vase, dreams disappear. Hope fades, and relationships disintegrate. In sending the vase, Mary Lou was “trying to save the family,” as Kim states, and losing it in the mail “made Mary Lou determined to prove herself.” Even after finding the vase again, very soon the Kellser family discovers they never owned it in the first place. Not owning the vase means that they cannot sell it; it means they cannot save the farm. When they realize this, Kim makes a striking statement. She says that “I’d rather lose this farm than lose my soul.” 

“Soul” is a strange word choice, but it provides the other connecting link to the hymn. It is obvious that Kim is making a right moral decision. But she uses a distinct word—soul—to do so. It reminds me of Mark 8:36; “And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul? (NLT)” And it ties in with the hymn, and the images at the piano—and the warning. For that we turn to the hymn story itself. ​

In 1873, Horatio Spafford was a businessman living in Chicago with his wife and four daughters, and they had already weathered their share of storms. The Great Fire of 1871 devastated their land holdings in the area, and the death of a son came shortly before the fire. But the occasion of the writing of the hymn came later. The Spafford family planned a trip to Europe, and Anna Spafford and their four daughters took a ship sailing for France. Delayed due to business, Horatio was to follow them later. But a tragedy changed the course of their plans, for the ship carrying Anna and the girls collided with another. In a few minutes, the ship had sunk, and all four daughters went down with it. Only Anna survived. She sent a telegram to her husband—“Saved alone what shall I do”—and Horatio sailed for England. On the journey over, the captain informed him when they were over the spot the ship went down. Out of that experience, Horatio wrote a poem—the hymn we know today as “It Is Well With My Soul” (Lyrics). 

The context of Horatio’s faith in the face of his reality is incredible. A trial by fire challenged his sense of place by changing the face of his home. A tragedy at sea altered the state of his family. Yet he still said, “It is well with my soul.” He knew his belonging. He knew his home. And he knew that on earth he was always journeying. 

Kim knows she’s journeying on earth too. She has an illness that “kills you, and there’s no cure…sooner or later, the bone marrow just stops making red blood cells.” For that reason, she is forced to live deeper, and look her humanity in the face. From that view of the world, she can say of a death to come—“some fancy expensive vase isn’t gonna change that.”

The vase then is a catalyst for questioning the nature of hope and the essence of life. Because of its own value and history, the vase is rightfully taken from the Kellser family, thus teaching an important lesson about resignation. And when we consider the flashbacks at the piano, and Kim’s own confession linking to the state of her soul, we trace an additional connection between the vase and “It Is Well,” a connection that reveals a warning. It is a warning against false security, the kind that sings "It is well with my soul" while a vase of material significance watches from its place on the piano. Kim knew in the end she couldn't rely on it, and that's why she says to Mary Lou that “we didn’t need it. We never needed it…We just needed each other.”

The vase is a source of hope, because it points to the value of something greater. The last image we have of the vase in the Kellser home is a picture of it sitting on a side table, but it is not—as in the piano scene—by itself. The vase is positioned to the side, and in the middle of the table sits a figure of an angel, its wings surrounding a central figure. The prominence of this image seems to represent a turning point in the family, and is pictured at the occasion of Kim’s statement “I’d rather lose this farm than lose my soul.” It allows the vase to be instrumental, but not elemental. Salvation is not attached to a controlled, physical possession, but to an unforeseen gift.

At the conclusion of Home Again, we ultimately see the farm saved. In a beautifully unexpected turn of events, Oliver steps in to purchase the farm on behalf of the Kellser family—the real “answer to prayer.” (It’s not the first time he’s played this part!) More importantly, we see a daughter’s homecoming and a reunited family (and a reunited cast!), chronicling a journey of belonging and of faith—things unseen that are so intimately connected with home. In this world the journey of our lives may not end with material restoration. The story of “It Is Well” teaches us that. But our story may be the occasion for new life—like the building of a new educational center on the Kellser farm, where many generations of families will learn and grow. Our stories, like that of “It Is Well,” and like that of Home Again, may end up being the inspiration for a new legacy. 

​-Kirsten

P.S. After I finished writing this blog post, I picked up Katie Davis Majors’ new book called Daring to Hope. She moved from Nashville to Uganda over ten years ago, and now has a family of her own, having birthed one son and adopted thirteen Ugandan girls. You could say her story has turned out quite differently than she expected. At the end of Chapter 3, on page 30, I found a quote that speaks into the exact nature of this post, and of the happy ending we witnessed at the end of Home Again. I couldn’t help including it: 

"Redemption…So often, we don’t get to see it. We hope and we pray and God says, “Trust me for the redemption that you can’t see yet. Trust me to provide.” And then every once in a while, we do. We get to see a big and joyous happy ending here and now and be reminded of the happiest of endings promised to us in eternity. We walk these roads and we wonder at God’s plan, but because of His promised Lamb, one day we will find ourselves face to face with our Father, adopted as sons and daughters. A family."

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Thank you, Kirsten, for thinking big, and being bold, and starting off the A&D deconstruction of Home Again so well!