Many years ago I began writing a novel, “Ruby, The Life of the Funeral.”

My first draft of many chapters was lost when my computer was taken hostage, my files encoded and ransomed for a price – a price I refused to pay. So I lost Ruby, several other books in their early stages of writing, hundreds of columns and archived stories.

It was my own fault for not backing everything up on an external hard drive, or at least a flash drive, but hindsight wasn’t going to get my work back. It was gone.

Certainly it was a loss of great magnitude for a writer, one that took some time to grieve.  During that time, I found bits and pieces of Ruby’s story on loose flash drives stored in various desk drawers. I slowly put her story back together from the bits, added new pieces, as life does with us every day after a loss, and Ruby became a short story instead of a novel – at least for now.

I’ve realized over the years that, in many ways, Ruby embodies a little bit of most of us when we feel like life delivers more losses than we can handle. She is often outrageous, outspoken and cynical, but loves abundantly, suffering through many losses and the pain brought about by that abundant love.

In her imperfection and her woundedness, she becomes one of the beautiful people Elizabeth Kubler-Ross describes as “those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths.”

While Ruby is just a story character in a book, and has no ability to transform or change other than that which I give her, we are immediately impacted by our experiences, changing like the shore with each wave of loss. Sometimes the change is imperceptible, but time and the many losses that buffet our lives may transform us into a vague resemblance of ourselves.

Still, it is often from the depths of this pain and transformation, that beauty emerges. Many of the most powerful and uplifting works of art are born from tragedy and sorrow, including the many inspiring hymns that lift us from despair.

Among them is, “It is Well With My Soul,” – a hymn that burst forth from the grief of Horatio Gates Spafford, a devout Christian who, for many years enjoyed a prosperous, joy-filled life.  But Horatio, like Job, would learn first-hand that faith does not prevent tragedy in our lives.  It can, however, get us through it.

Everything took a turn for the worse when fires destroyed all his real estate investments. Then his son, one of five children, died unexpectedly. Horatio decided to send his wife and four daughters on a trip to Europe for some time to heal. He was scheduled to meet them at a later date, when his work responsibilities had been met.

Just a few days later, he received a telegram from his wife. Their boat had been wrecked at sea. Of their family, only she remained alive. Their four daughters had perished. It was on his journey to meet his wife, by boat across the same sea that took his daughters, that Horatio gave birth to the lyrics of the timeless and powerful hymn: “When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows, like a sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.”

A famous composer at the time, Philip Bliss, was so inspired by Horatio’s words that he wrote the moving music for the hymn which continues to inspire us today.

We may not know how such excruciating grief changed Horatio over time, but his hymn reflects his first desire – to turn to God.  With that faith, he was able to create something with the power to help heal others in their grief more than 100 years later.

Mary Morrell is author of “Let Go and Live” and “Things My Father Taught Me Above Love,” both available as ebooks on Amazon.