Laughter in the Secret Place


Lamb of God,

Worthy is Your name.”


The song plays in my head.

And the melody soothes me.

And in the singing of it,

I feel like I am lost,

In the only place I need to be.


Like this is what I was created for,

And all the world is right,

And there is just this song,

And the worship of You.


I worship You,

And the world fades away. 

And all of life is transformed,

Into the holy place,

Of Your presence.


My soul sways to the melody,

And the music rocks me gently,

Side to side,

Like a lullaby,

Like a calming,

Like a mother soothing a child.


My heart seems to know the rhythm,

Of David’s words:

“Like a weaned child with its mother;

Like a weaned child is my soul within me.” (Ps 131:2b)


And I too,

Have calmed and quieted my soul.

And I don’t occupy myself,

With things too high for me.


All the worries,

And the questions,

And the things,

I just don’t know,

I let them fall.


I turn my face away from the waves,

The waves of worry,

Always demanding solutions,

Yet never satisfied.


I turn away from the questions,

That only ensnare me.

From the waves of worry,

That only drown me.


I turn my back on the unanswered questions,

And I take hold of my soul’s,

One anchor.

Your name.


I confess again,

Who You are.

I lift up my face,

To the stinging rain,

And the blustering wind,

And all the shades of gray,

That light the sky.


I lift up my face,

Fill my lungs with breath,

And sing Your name,

As praise and worship.


That is my answer to the driving rain,

And the relentless wind.

I sing Your name.


Only answer I have.

Only answer I need.

For Your name,

Is the only answer,

There is.


Who You are,

Is the answer to everything.

And to put my hope,

In anything less than Your name,

Is to be the fool,

Building castles in the sand.


Sovereign God,

Who alone commands the power,

Of the universe.

Who alone can calm the wind and waves,

Or drive them where He will.


You are God alone,

Who can bring storms,

Wherever You please.

And if I build my security,

On what I build with my own two hands,

I am a fool.


For what power does sand have,

Against the fury of wind and waves?

And should a tempest arise,

What defense can my castle of sand,



Will it hold me then?

When the storms come to rock my world?

Will it be my safety and my refuge then?


Ah, but Lord God,

The worship of You,

Is a solid rock.

And when I trust in Your name,

I abide in Your courts,

And no matter what storm comes,

I am still here.


And I can abide in Your courts,

Even in the midst of violent tempest.

And no fury of hell,

Or man,

Or earth,

Can shake me from my place,

In Your presence.


Those who abide in the secret place,

Of the Most High,

Shall abide,

In the shadow,

Of the Almighty. 


And though the world around me fall,

Yet I am safe with You.

For nothing can shake the tent,

Of the Almighty.

And when I stake my claim with You,

I am the most safe,

And the most blessed.


Nothing can touch the security,

Of the one who abides in You.

No disease or death of health,

Can rock her.

No disappointment or disaster,

Can ever kill her hope.


No betrayal,

Or hurt,

Or death,

Can crush her.

But she abides in the breathing hope,

And the living life,

And in the Sovereign One,

Who holds all of life,

In His hands.


And in the middle of a storm,

She abides in the one,

Who holds the storm in His hands.

And her soul is in the safest place,

And what has she to fear?


And not even death,

Can steal the life from her.

Not even death,

Can take her from the abiding place.


In all the trials of this life,

She is more than a conqueror.

And when the day comes for death to take hold,

Her victory,

Will at last be complete.


So whether the storm means life or death,

What has she to fear?

She is tucked away in the secret place,

Of the fellowship of the Almighty.

She has already won.


She stands in the midst of the Almighty,

And the storm rages like a jealous child.

It taunts and it mocks and it shouts,

Because it hates what it sees,

That she has.


It hates that she is tucked away,

In the bosom of the Most High.

And she smiles in the face of the adversity,

Mocks its powerless power,

And it wants to wipe that smug grin off her face,

But it can’t.

For her security is rooted in the Most High.

And the wicked one,

Can touch her not. 


For darkness cannot come near the Most High.

Darkness cannot bear the searing light.

Where the Most High stands,

There is no darkness.

And hell and earth alike,

Flee from His face.


But she abides.


In the secret place of the Most High.

In the shadow of the Almighty.

In the place of communion,

With His presence,

She abides.


And all the storm can do,

Is mutter angry and empty threats.

But she smiles.

Surrounded by the presence of the Most High,

And feeding on His fellowship,

Her soul is full,

And satisfied,

And she is content,

To be battered by storm.

Tempest cannot steal her joy.


In fact,

She almost actually kind of delights in the storm.

For it’s in the midst of the storm,

That her story finds its clout.

It’s in the midst of the storm,

That she gets to boast in the glory of her God,

Boast in His victory,

In her chest.


It’s the storm,

That brings out the glory.

And in the end,

It’s the storm,

That will prove her true.

It’s the storm that will show her,

A true child of God.


So she laughs at the storm,

With all its empty rage,

And its dead-end fury.

For her victory is already sealed,

In the heavenly places.

And what does the storm think to accomplish,

By beating her flesh?


Doesn’t it know,

That it can’t make her fail?

Doesn’t it know,

That the Holy One,

Has made her more than a conqueror,

With His own two hands?


Doesn’t it know,

That it can’t undo,

What the High King of heaven,

Has done Himself?


Doesn’t it know what the Scripture says?

That its really only bringing out,

The weight of glory in her soul.

Doesn’t it know,

That all its really doing,

With all its dead-end rage,

Is magnifying Christ,

And His victory?


Surely a storm so powerful,

And claiming to be so wise,

Must understand these things.


I am slow of understanding,

Yet even I am beginning to see.

I begin to see the testimony of Christ,

Written in my own soul.

And the more the wind and the rains pound and drive,

The more they erode the layers of dirt and sand on the top,

And the rock of salvation underneath,

Becomes clear.


Son of God,

Etched into my soul.

The wind blows the dust away,

And I see it,

Carved in rock,

And standing like a monument.


The storm clears the earth away,

And the Sovereign God hidden underneath,

Becomes more and more clear.


The storm comes,

And something has to die.

And the storm ravages my soul,

And seeks to kill my hope,

My joy,

My peace.


Yet the Holy One within me,

Will not let me go.

And His iron grip of hope,

Holds my soul steady.

And my soul can’t die,

Even if it wants to.


But the Holy One,

Inside of me,

Fights back,

Blow for blow.


And where despair and darkness wage war,

And drag me down,

He is the bedrock underneath me,

And I can’t sink down that far.


But hope wrestles in my breast,

And I grab the handholds,

Rocks jutting out beneath the surface,

And I climb up out of the slime. 


Son of God,

Who is the anchor of my soul.

And He sinks Himself deep into me,

And I hold on,

And pull myself forward,

Through the slippery mud,

And blinding storm.


Son of God,

Who calls out to me,

And I find my anchor.

Son of God who pricks me,

To hold fast His name.

And I do,

And I walk,

And I sing.


I have found my anchor,

And now I can walk,

Where I never could before.

And the storm that used to drive me back,

Into a cave somewhere,

Is steadily weakening,

In power.


For I’ve found the anchor,

And I’ve found the rope,

And I’ve found the guardrail,

And I’m holding it fast,

And pulling my battered body,



And I find it to be true,

I am more than a conqueror.


I find the victory of Christ,

Growing stronger and stronger in my breast,

And I can’t help,

But be amazed.


I am living the gospel out,

Right here.

And the gospel really is alive in me,

And I feel the glory radiating,

And I tremble at the quiver,

Of the holy.


There’s a miracle happening in my soul,

And I’m glimpsing it.

I feel my trembling places,

Strengthen and harden,

And my faith is beginning to grow callouses and develop muscle,

From hard use.


And I smile.

My weakened soul,

Is slowly,

Growing strong.


And the double-minded,

Wavering waif,

Is developing into a solid warrior.

Into a secure and unshakable,

Child of God.


It’s happening.

Deep in my soul,

It’s happening.


The roots are growing deep,

And the hands are growing strong,

And the skin is growing thick,

Against the storm.


And the more things beat,

The stronger soul becomes,

And I’m watching something happen.

I’m watching soul transform.


And it’s really true.

You really do perfect us,

In the trials and the storms.

And it’s really true,

You really are our victory,

And You really will not,


Let us go.


For You have chosen us,

And saved us,

For Your own glory.

And You will finish,

What You have begun,

For You will not let Your glory,



And You will not allow,

Your name,

To be made a mockery of.

And we bear Your name,

And we are the glory of Your name,

And You will not let us,



But You will bring us,

To Your desired end.

And all the saints before Your throne,


And gathered together,

In worship.


You are faithful,

And this alone,

Is what all our hope,

Is in.


And when I’m in the middle of the storm,

It’s not my own strength,

Or cleanness,

Or rightness,

That I find hope in.


But it’s that You have chosen to love me,

And put Your own name upon me,

And make me Yours.

And so You will finish,

What You have begun.


This alone,

Is my hope.

Because You are faithful,

And You loved me first.


God Almighty,

The world may not understand,

My storms.


They may not understand,

The way my soul has always raged,

And kept me back,

And small.


They may see the wrestling,

As a setback,

Or a disease,

Or a cause for concern.


But I see glory.

And I see victory.

And I see life,

Being born.


I see peace and joy,

Growing up the the rock,

Of my hardened heart.

And it takes a lot of breaking,

For fruit to grow,

In hard and barren places.


And the undoing,

Of years of wrongdoing,

Is a long,

And painful process.


And sometimes You have to send in tempests,

To tear apart,

The strongholds,

And break open and water,

The hard and fallow ground.


But I do not despise the storms.

And I do not despise the correction.

For I feel the fruit of righteousness,

Growing in my soul. 

And it begins to grow in the deepest part,

And through the storms,

You are making me,

To rule my own soul.


To make it a place,

For the worship of You.

You are making me to rule it,

So that I might have the power and authority,

To submit it to You.


Son of God,

Who takes my chaotic soul,

And creates a rhythm of peace,

And worship.


Almighty God,

I have at last found this anchor,

That can take me forward,

Through any storm.


Confessing Your name.

And confessing Your gospel.


The anchor that holds me.

The grace that forms steps,

Under my feet.


And no matter the storm,

Your name is grace underneath me,

And rock that steadies me,

And handholds that I can grasp,

And I always have this,

And I can always move forward.


Further up and further in.

I hold Your name,

And I can always walk.


No matter where I am,

You are solid ground beneath me.

And no matter where I am,

I confess Your name,

And I can walk,

And You are my claim,

To the grace beneath me,

Everywhere I go.


Son of God,

Your name is my birthright.

Your gift to me,

That no one can ever steal from my lips.


But I will confess You,


And all the day,

And whenever I choose.

And there is never a moment,

When I am not allowed,

To confess Your name,

And claim my birthright.

The fellowship with You.


I confess Your name,

And I abide in the secret place,

Of the Most High.

I dwell with You,

In Your tent,

And I smile at the wind and the rain,

As they swirl around,



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