Back in the summer of 2008, some friends and I gathered to catch up. One friend who was going through some really hard stuff said, “I just need a soft place to land.” As a songwriter, I quickly (yet discreetly) wrote that phrase down so I could one day write a song by that title. About six months later, I actually wrote the song; a song that spoke of loss, sorrow, and grief. Little did I know that I would soon be going through a huge loss of my own. In January of 2009, the same month I finished the song, my husband, Scott, developed symptoms of dizziness and loss of balance. These strange symptoms started us on a journey of medical tests, doctors’ visits, and hospital stays.

Then, a mere six weeks after the first onset of symptoms, we received the unbelievable diagnosis that Scott had a fatal, fast-moving, neurological disease called Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease—CJD—the human form of “Mad Cow Disease.” We were told he had three-to-twelve months to live. With those words, our lives were suddenly turned upside down and shaken to the very core. Scott’s reaction to the diagnosis, however, was one of calm faith and great trust, helping us both focus on what was true: that God was good and that it was going to be okay. Through it all he said very hopeful, faith-filled things: “There is no despair, but great comfort;” “This is God’s plan and it is perfect;” and “I want God to shine huge through this.” He often repeated his favorite verse: “Taste and see that the Lord is good, blessed is the man who trusts in Him” (Psalm 34:8). His faith and glad acceptance of God’s will was amazing to me and to all those around us.

Two days after the diagnosis, a Sunday morning, while we were still at Wake Forest University Hospital, I started humming the song that I’d recently written with the lyrics swirling in my head, “There’s no words I can say, to take the hurt away. But I can hold your hand, and pray that someday soon, you’ll find a soft place to land.” That’s when it hit me; that song was for us—for now. We needed a soft place to land. Later that morning, as my head and heart were still reeling from the news of the diagnosis, I went to the cafeteria to get some coffee and scones. While paying, trying to keep my emotions at bay, there right above me on a TV monitor was a gospel program with a very “fired-up” preacher proclaiming over and over again, “The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord….” At that point, I lost it, and started weeping. Yet for some reason, at that moment in time, I desperately wanted to tell the cashier, “God is good…I know God is good.” Yet whatever I said came out a jumbled mess of words and tears. She just kindly looked at me, took my hand and said, “It’s gonna be alright, honey.”

Later Scott would say to me, “I know I’ve got a soft place to land, and I’m praying that for you and the boys too.” So I guess this song was really a “God-kiss” at a very hard time; a sweet reminder that we were not alone in our loss; that God was going before us, even allowing me to write a song about loss before I had to go through it! He was whispering His love, comfort and peace in a very personal way, reminding us of the amazing truth, that in Him, we ultimately have a very soft place to land.

Soft Place to Land

In your place of sorrow, I am sorry my friend.
In your place of painful, how I wish the pain would end.
But there’s no words I can say to take the hurt away.
But I can hold your hand, and pray that someday soon
You’ll find a soft place to land.

In your desert dry place, may the rains pour down.
In your limbo lost place, how I pray that you’ll be found.
But there’s no words I can say to take the hurt away.
But I can hold your hand, and pray that someday soon
You’ll find a soft place to land.

In free fall, not knowing, if the strong man’s gonna
Catch you when you call.
In darkness, not knowing if there’s any light
In this world at all.

In your place of weeping, I am weeping too.
In your place of grieving,
How I hope the light breaks though.
But there’s no words I can say, to take the hurt away.
But I can hold your hand, and pray that someday soon.
You’ll find a soft place to land

Click HERE to go to next song: “Lord Have Mercy

Click HERE to go back to: “Soft Place to Land” CD HOME

This is at Wake Forest Hospital where we received Scott’s fatal diagnosis in March 2009. This is one of our very last family pictures. We didn’t know it then, but we only had 2 more weeks left with him.