Sacred defiance

Hell has been loud lately.

Loud in the empty rooms.

Loud in the cold silence.

Loud in the quiet prayers that seem to hit the ceiling and shatter like glass.

And still, I lift my hands.

Not because it doesn’t hurt.

Not because I understand.

Not because I’ve found the miracle I begged for.

But because this worship is the one thing hell cannot steal.

This is sacred defiance.

This is war without a sword, fire without a flame, faith that refuses to be buried with the rest of the broken things.

You may touch everything I have,

but you will not have my worship.

You may ransack my joy, lay siege to my peace, burn down the house where hope once lived.

But I will not bow to despair.

I will not make an idol out of my agony.

I will not trade the truth for relief.

I have been brought low, but I am not defeated.

I am wounded, but I am not wasted.

And when I have no words left to pray, I will whisper His name like a weapon.

Jesus.

I don’t worship because everything is okay.

I worship because He is.

Because He never left the furnace.

Because He never flinched when the storms came for me.

Because when I sat in the dark, not sure I wanted to survive the night, He lit a candle and sat beside me.

This is my resistance:

To sing with a throat sore from crying.

To praise with hands that buried what I loved.

To trust with a heart still bleeding.

To show up again tomorrow, even if today nearly killed me.

And somehow, that will be enough.

It has to be.

Because though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.

Because the fire may take everything, but not my yes.

Because I still believe there’s a resurrection on the other side of this ruin.

So tonight, hell can watch me tremble.

Hell can hear me weep.

But it will also hear me worship.

I will not curse the God who stayed.

I will not lay down my song.

I will not give hell what it came for.

Even now my soul says:

Blessed be the name of the Lord.