When peace like a river attendeth my
way. Even as the pen scribbled the words onto the empty sheet, the
writer’s hand trembled. He looked out over the rail at the still sea and
gripped the pen even tighter.
“Peace I leave with
you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, do I give to you. Let not
your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” He quoted the verse
aloud, for at least the tenth time that day.
But how could he
keep his heart from being troubled? How could he not be afraid?
Setting the pen down on the table, he
rose and made his way to the end of the deck. The waters over which the ship
sailed sparkled in the afternoon light. They looked so still. So pretty. So
calm. But Horatio knew those sparkling waters were his daughters’ grave.
He closed his eyes to pray and once
again pictured a dark sea, it’s waters cold and choppy. He could almost feel
the boat rocking to and fro, hear the wind whipping the sail, see the dark
shadow of another boat mere feet away. Then a crash - a sudden shock, the
splintering of wood, people screaming.
“When sorrows like sea billows
roll.” He whispered to himself. “Oh Lord,” he prayed aloud,
“Lord, how can we bear this?”
Horatio knelt a long time on the deck,
tears streaming down his hidden face. His shoulders rose and fell as he
struggled to contain his grief. He thought of his four little girls - Annie,
Maggie, Bessie, Tanetta - four sweet, precious souls, swallowed up in cold,
dark waves.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his
shoulder. “Are you well, Mr. Spafford?”
Horatio looked up to see a young
man, one of the ship’s crew. He nodded. “I am well.”
“I’m very sorry, Sir. The Captain told
me about your loss.”
Horatio nodded again and turned to look
out at the sea. He hadn’t even the words to thank the boy. I am well. He
repeated to himself, his knuckles turning white as he held tightly to the
railing. It is well. Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, it is
well…it is well with my soul.
Returning to the table at which he had
sat, he picked up the pen and completed the stanza.
Then his eyes drifted to the corner of
another paper that he had tucked inside his bible. He pulled it free. It was a
telegram from his wife, its edges worn by frequent handling. In the print of
the typewriter, he once again read: Saved alone. What shall I do?
What should we do? He picked up his pen and placed it to the sheet of
paper again. 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. He nodded. That’s our first
step. First, we remember what our Savior hath done.
My sin, he wrote, 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!
He picked up his bible and leafed through its pages. In the words of
Matthew, he found another storm.
The wood of the boat creaked and groaned. The wind howled and tore at
the sails. The rain came down in a torrent. A dark night. A tossing sea. A dark
shadow on the waves.
“It’s a spirit!” Someone cried.
But then the shadow spoke, “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.”
Horatio could almost feel the relief they would have felt in finding the
dark shape to be their Lord, instead of danger as they had feared - but he
wondered at the apostle Peter’s response:
“Lord, if it be thou will, bid me come unto thee on the water.”
Why would he choose a position of greater difficulty? As if the danger
they faced within the boat was not great enough, he asked to be allowed to
forsake the safety of the vessel and venture out into open waters. Why? And why
did the Lord not stop him? He didn’t say “Peter, do you know what you
are asking?” He simply said, “Come.”
Then the miracle – Peter walked on the waters. He rose above. The storm,
the waves, they didn’t overcome him.
“I long, O Lord.” Horatio Spafford prayed, “to rise above this
storm. To walk above these waters and not be overcome.”
But how? He opened his eyes and kept on reading.
“When Peter saw the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to
sink, he cried, saying, ‘Lord, save me’. And immediately Jesus stretched forth
his hand, and caught him.”
That was it! He could walk on water when his eyes were on Jesus. But
when he focused on the circumstances instead, he sunk.
“Jesus said to him, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou
doubt?”
Lord, I too have doubted you. Help me henceforth to keep my eyes on you.
Horatio flipped through the pages of his bible again, stopping in
Philippians this time. His eyes skimmed through the verses till he found what
he was looking for.
“For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.” He read. So began
his next verse, For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live: if Jordan above me
shall roll, no pang shall be mine, for in death as in life Thou wilt whisper
Thy peace to my soul.
Until two years ago, Horatio Spafford had thought that peace was the
absence of suffering, a state of harmony and undisturbed calm. But he was
learning that it is so much more than that; it is a grace that transcends
difficulty; a quiet, a stability that allows one to stand even in the midst of
a storm. Now, he knew how to find it. By fixing his eyes on Jesus, regardless
of the circumstance, by focusing on his Lord no matter what waves might come.
But, Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait, the sky, not the
grave, is our goal. His eyes returned to the lapping waves.
Here they had died, all four of his little girls, but here they would not
remain. The sky, not the grave, is our goal. He repeated. Oh,
trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord! Blessed hope, blessed rest of my
soul! And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight, the clouds be
rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul.
In Christ
Quiana
*It Is Well With My Soul, lyrics by Horatio Spafford
Scripture References
in ESV: John xiv.27, Matthew xiv. 24- 33, Philippians i.21
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