Getty Music - The Lord is My Salvation Lyrics

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Keith & Kristyn Getty - The Lord Is My Salvation (Lyric Video)

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands aren’t what they used to be. The joints ache when the rain rolls in off the hills, and the skin is thin as parchment, mapped with veins that tell stories of years spent gripping a plow, then a pen, then the edges of a worn pew. I’ve sat with Keith and Kristyn Getty’s melodies for a while now, letting them settle into the quiet corners of the house where the silence usually gets too heavy.

There is a line in their song, "The Lord is My Salvation," that caught me off guard at three in the morning: "In times of waiting, times of need / When I know loss, when I am weak."

Most of what we sing in church these days feels like it’s written by people who haven’t yet lost their sight or their spouse or their steady gait. It’s loud, and it’s fast. But that line—it doesn't try to speed past the ruin. It sits in the debris. I remember standing by an open grave in the bitter cold of a February decades ago, feeling a specific kind of hollow that no sermon could fill. In those moments, you don’t need a song about climbing walls; you need a song that admits you are too weak to even stand.

Scripture tells us in 2 Corinthians that His power is made perfect in weakness. I’ve spent forty years trying to be strong for the Lord, thinking that was the point. But the older I get, the more I realize that strength wasn't mine to offer. It was His, held out like a hand to a man sinking in a, well, a "raging sea." I’m not sure I’m always comfortable with the "victory won" language when my own body feels like it’s losing the skirmish daily. Yet, when I read that lyric again—He will not leave me in the grave—I find a different kind of steadiness. It isn't the youthful, exuberant confidence of a convert. It’s the stubborn, quiet expectation of someone who has seen the sun set enough times to know it really does rise again.

Does it offer comfort? Yes. But it’s a jagged comfort. It reminds me that the salvation I’ve spent a lifetime singing about isn't a magical hedge against suffering; it’s the quiet, immovable reality that waits for me on the other side of it. I don’t have the answers to why the "winter" has to be so long, or why the losses pile up like autumn leaves against a door. I just know that the promise persists even when my voice cracks, even when the lights grow dim and the strength is truly gone. It’s enough. It has to be.