O Lord, Most High
All people that on earth do dwell should sing to You with cheerful voice, serve You with fear. Your praise forth tell come before You and rejoice. But here I am, voice cracking with sorrow, heart like wax melting within me (Psalm 22:14), yet I come. I come not because I am whole, but because You are holy. I come not in strength, but because You are my strength.
For You, O Lord, are God—it is You who has made us, and not we ourselves (Psalm 100:3). I am dust yet known. I am frail yet loved. You knit me together in the secret place (Psalm 139:13), and still, You remember that I am dust (Psalm 103:14).
O Shepherd of my soul, I have wandered far, my soul clings to the very things that wound it. Like sheep, we have all gone astray, each to our own way—but You, Lord, have laid on Your Son the iniquity of us all (Isaiah 53:6). What kind of mercy is this? What kind of love bleeds?
I do not deserve it. Yet still You call, “Return to Me,” and I lift my face to You through trembling hands.
Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise (Psalm 100:4), but I enter with broken songs. Still, You do not despise a broken spirit; a contrite heart, O God, You will not reject (Psalm 51:17). So I pour it out here.
Let my tears be my worship. Let my silence be a sanctuary. Let my cries be incense rising—for You bottle every tear (Psalm 56:8).
O Lord, I am undone. Search me, and know me. Try me, and see if there be any grievous way in me—lead me in the way everlasting (Psalm 139:23–24). You are the potter—I am clay. Mold this mess into a vessel of mercy (Isaiah 64:8).
Let the whole earth stand in awe of You, for You spoke, and it came to be; You commanded, and it stood firm (Psalm 33:8–9). You ride the wings of the wind. You thunder from heaven, and yet You whisper to the weary. You clothe the lilies, number the stars, and yet You bend low to dwell with the crushed and humble (Isaiah 57:15).
Why, then, should I fear? The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? (Psalm 27:1) Even if the mountains crumble, even if the night lasts long, I will wait on You. I will trust in Your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in Your salvation (Psalm 13:5).
So I will lift my voice, cracked though it may be, and sing—For the Lord is gracious, His mercy is ever sure; His truth at all times firmly stood, and shall from age to age endure.
You are the Ancient of Days—Your throne is from everlasting. But You are also Abba Father to the fatherless, Healer of the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3), Binder of wounds.
You who formed the stars—form in me a new heart. You who calmed the sea—still this storm within. You who wept at Lazarus’ tomb—You know. You see. You feel.
So I will trust You in the waiting. I will bless Your name in the valley. I will praise You for who You are, not just for what You give.
Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name (Psalm 103:1). Forget not all His benefits—He forgives all my iniquities, He heals all my diseases, He redeems my life from the pit and crowns me with steadfast love and mercy (Psalm 103:2–4).
You are my hiding place. You surround me with songs of deliverance (Psalm 32:7). Let those songs rise even now, in this raw place, and carry my heart to Yours.
I will praise You, Lord, not because life is easy—but because You are worthy. Not because I am strong—but because You are my song. Forever and ever, amen.