When Peace Like a River Ran Dry

In 1873, Horatio Spafford put his four daughters on a steamship bound for England. He planned to follow shortly after wrapping up business in Chicago — a city where he had already lost nearly everything in the Great Fire two years earlier. He kissed his girls goodbye and trusted the ocean to carry them safely.

It didn't. The SS Ville du Havre collided with another vessel and sank in twelve minutes. All four of Spafford's daughters perished. His wife Anna survived and sent him a two-word telegram from Wales: "Saved alone."

Spafford boarded the next available ship to join her. Somewhere on the Atlantic, the captain called him to the bridge and told him they were passing over the spot where his children had drowned. That night, staring into the dark water that had swallowed everything he loved, Spafford sat down and wrote: "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."

Not "it is well with my circumstances." Not "it is well with my plans." With my soul.

Trust doesn't mean believing God will keep the ship from sinking. Trust means believing that the One who walks on water is still sovereign when we are swallowed by the waves. Spafford didn't write a hymn about understanding. He wrote a hymn about surrender — and the Church has been singing it for over a hundred and fifty years because every generation recognizes the sound of a soul that refused to let go of the Almighty.