Standing, when everything shakes

🎶 “Standing on the promises of Christ my King, through eternal ages let his praises ring; glory in the highest I will shout and sing, standing on the promises of God!”🎶

Affliction has a way of changing the way we sing. Once, I sang this hymn standing tall, lungs full, voice rising like a joyful Baptist at a Saturday night revival—sure, strong, unquestioning. Now, I sing it slower from the quiet of my hospital bed, tasting each word, weighing every promise against the heaviness pressing on my chest. The melody hasn’t changed, but I have.

18 days. Eighteen days of one hard thing after another maddeningly marching through the doors of my life—uninvited, unrelenting. Health unraveling into painful new territories, relationships trembling under pressure that threatens what once seemed unshakeable, the future scattering into pieces I can no longer hold together. It feels like too much.

In a weary whisper only God could hear, I said, You are asking too much of me. This feels impossible. I don’t think I can do this. And yet—You must think I can.

So where, Lord, is the help You promised?

Promise. That word flickered through my tired mind and opened a remembered door: “This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your promise gives me life” (Psalm 119:50). There it was—quiet as a breath, clear as a bell: Hannah, this is your help. My promises. Stand on them.

So the words came tumbling—like a river breaking through a dam—every scripture, every promise I could catch hold of, spoken aloud over the noise of despair crowding my soul:

If I stand firm to the end, You will save me. You give strength to the weary. I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Your name is a strong tower—I run to You. With Your grace, all things are possible. So help me do what feels impossible. Help me make it through this.

And this morning, something was different. The circumstances hadn’t shifted—the questions still hovered—but my heart? It stood. Courage where fear had sat. Steadiness where trembling had lived. God had kept His word. He renewed me. He breathed life where hope was thinning. His promises held me upright, where I thought I would fall.

My family woke to the sound of me—quiet, raspy voice —singing again like that happy Baptist at a Saturday night revival: Standing on the promises of God.

And this time, I am not just singing it. I am living it.