This year, our church in South Carolina has been using a four-part daily Bible reading plan: Read | Sing | Pray | Ask. I’ve continued with this plan, even after moving across the country, because I love the simplicity and diversity of it. Each day, we read a single chapter, then each week we sing a single sing. There are daily thoughts to ask yourself about your relationship with God and weekly prayers to guide your conversation with him.

The reason for this post actually has to do with the song selection. On Mondays, we get the new song of the week. This Monday, it was You Hold It All… a song by Travis Ryan I had never heard (the video link is at the bottom of this page).

Now, I should stop here to let you know how I do my daily reading. I don’t read it, actually, but I listen while I’m walking the dog at zero-dark-thirty each morning. Bonus: Since it’s dark, I can actually do that quiet-sing (and maybe a little dance-walking) without anyone knowing.

Anyway, so the first day of the week I was already loving this new-to-me song. I found myself really thinking about the lyrics, and both the words and the music put me in a very worshipful mood.

Verse 1:
From the highest of mountains
To the depths of the sea – You Hold It All
From the planets in motion
To the breath that we breathe
From the womb of the barren
To the rich and the poor
To the dreams of the orphan
Every heartbeat is Yours

Chorus:
You hold it all
You hold it all
You hold it all
You hold it all

I knew our worship pastor selected these songs almost a year ago while we were working on the reading plan, but I reveled in God’s provision of this song for this week. I was hopeful for some good news I was expecting and knew it was all in God’s perfect timing.

And then Tuesday came.

This time, I wasn’t feeling so worshipful. In fact, I was fluctuating because sorrow and anger. Because on Monday afternoon, I received disctinctly bad news in place of good. Something I had been working toward for six weeks was not happening. Something I had really wanted, and believed God would allow me to have, was taken away.

I was in shock. I didn’t know how this would affect my long-term future, but I knew it would make things pretty difficult for the short-term. I listened to the words that day, but didn’t sing.

By Wednesday morning, I’d mostly-kinda-sorta let the anger go. But I still had a lot of questions and even more doubt. Why had this happened? What did I do wrong? Is there any way to fix it? And the big one: why did God say no?!

As I listened to the words again, another word felt tacked into the chorus – one that seemed to be tailor sung for me this week. I heard… You STILL hold it all. And I let the repercussions of that single word roll over me, into the bridge:

You stand alone in splendor
You reign in majesty
Your hands formed all creation
Your hands are holding me
You are my hope forever
You are the Sovereign King
You are my Friend and Savior
You are my everything

I believe that You [still] hold it all…

I let the tears flow (it was dark, remember), as they had done for the past several days whenever I remembered the loss. But this time I wasn’t crying a “poor me,” but rather a submission to a Creator who is all of those things yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He is the same God I believed to be holding me on Monday, when I expected different news. He didn’t change. I did.

His hands are [still] holding me. He is [still] the Sovereign King. He is [still] my Friend and Savior. He is [still] my everything.

Today when I sang these words again, I sang as one who knows and believes them from the very depths of my soul. I’m human, so I’ll always be tempted to doubt and fear, but I’m so grateful for the provision of a church who believes in the importance of daily time with our Savior, a worship pastor who listens to the Holy Spirit’s prompting when selecting music (and the artist who wrote the words), technology that allows me to participate from 2000 miles away, and all of these things working together to help start my day focused on the great One never changes and who holds it all.