Hillsong Worship - I Will Exalt You Lyrics

Video

I Will Exalt You - Hillsong Worship

Meaning & Inspiration

They keep singing about the "hiding place" like it’s a picturesque cabin in the woods or some quiet room with soft light. That isn't how it felt for me. When I was running, when the bottle was empty and the streetlights were the only things watching me sleep, "hiding place" sounded like a tactical necessity. It sounded like the only way to keep from being shredded by the consequences of my own stupidity.

Listening to Hillsong Worship pull these words out, I don’t hear a choir in robes. I hear the desperation of someone who finally stopped running because they realized they had nowhere left to go.

“Because you're with me, I will not fear.”

That line hits different when you’ve been terrified of your own shadow. I spent years looking over my shoulder, waiting for the bill to come due, waiting for the wreck to catch up. When you live in that kind of wreckage, you aren't looking for a "friend and king" in the way the Sunday morning crowd talks about Him. You’re looking for a shield. You’re looking for the kind of presence that doesn't ask for a shower or a resume before it stands between you and the storm.

It brings me back to the guy in the desert, David, writing that even if he makes his bed in the depths—the literal Sheol—He is there. It’s not a comforting thought for someone who wants to hide their sin; it’s an absolute shock for someone who’s tired of being alone in the dark.

I’m still scrubbing the soot off my skin. I’m still learning how to exist in a room without scanning for the exits. When they sing "I will exalt you," it sounds like a desperate declaration of loyalty from someone who just had their life handed back to them after they threw it in the trash. It’s not a tidy prayer. It’s the breath of a man who just survived a drowning.

I don’t know if I’m "fixed." Probably not. I still have days where the panic comes back and I start looking for my old shortcuts. But there’s a stubborn reality to the idea that He is there. Not in the distant, theological sense, but in the "I’m standing right here while you’re shaking" sense.

Maybe that’s what "anointed one" means to someone like me. It’s not just a title on a page; it’s the guy who walked into the middle of my filth and didn't recoil. It’s the scandal of being found when I was doing everything in my power to stay lost. I’m still figuring out what it means to stop being afraid, but for now, I’ll take the fact that I’m still here, and He hasn’t walked away yet. That’s enough to keep me quiet for a minute. That’s enough to keep me listening.