Roots That Know His Name

 

It feels like roots that reach down deep,
Past surface soil and shallow sleep.
Through rock and dark and time they go,
Where living water starts to flow.

They do not rush, they do not strain,
They find their place in sun and rain.
And when the storm begins to rise,
They do not tremble, break, or hide.

I do not need to leap or prove—
My stillness is my boldest move.
I rise because I’ve sunk so low
Into the heart of Him I know.

I’m grounded in a sacred name—
More firm than fear, more real than shame.
He wrote His truth inside my chest,
And in His presence, I can rest.

No wind can lift what’s anchored right,
No flame can burn what’s born of light.
Though seasons shift and branches bend,
The root in Him will never end.

So when you see me standing tall,
Don’t ask how I survived the fall.
My strength is quiet, slow, and sure—
It grew through fire, and it endures.

These roots are worship, slow and true.
They drink the deep, they bloom the new.
And I will rise—not rushed, but real—
With grounded joy no thief can steal.