Judikay - Yes Lord Lyrics

Video

Judikay - Yes Lord (LIVE)

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands aren’t what they used to be. The skin is thin, spotted with the years, and the joints ache when the rain rolls in. I spent a long time thinking I had to hold onto everything tightly—my family, my pride, my own ideas of how things should go—just to keep from losing myself. But listening to Judikay sing "this life I live is all Yours" brings a quiet, unsettling weight back into the room.

It’s easy to say "Yes, Lord" when the coffee is hot and the bills are paid. It’s an altogether different thing to say it when the body starts failing and the future isn't a long, winding road anymore, but a narrow path. "In Your sufficiency, Yes, Yes Lord"—that line stopped me mid-sip this morning. It’s a terrifying admission, really. It means that when I am at my absolute end, when I have nothing left to offer the altar but a tired breath, that is when I am finally honest about who provides the life.

I’ve sat in pews for four decades. I’ve heard plenty of songs that sound good in a crowded room, full of high notes and energy, only to evaporate the moment you walk out into the parking lot. But there is a particular kind of stubbornness in this song. When Judikay asks, "If You're looking for a vessel," she isn't shouting it like a warrior going to battle. She’s quiet about it, almost like she’s waiting for a knock at the door.

I’m reminded of how Peter felt, I suspect. When Jesus kept asking him if he loved Him, it wasn't a soft, musical moment. It was painful. It was a stripping away of everything Peter thought he had to offer. "I move and have my being all in You" (Acts 17:28) is a bit of Scripture that sounds grand in a sermon, but in the dark hours, it’s a frightening surrender. If my life is all His, then what happens to my comfort? What happens to the plans I made for my retirement or the legacy I thought I was building?

There is a tension here that most folks try to sing away. We want the "Yes" to be a clean, happy finish. But true surrender is messy. It’s saying "Yes" to the loss, "Yes" to the failing eyesight, "Yes" to the fact that I don't know the ending of the story.

I’m left wondering, after all these years, if I really mean it. Or if I’m just humored by the melody. Can I honestly say "Yes" when I’m alone, with the lights low, and the house is far too quiet? I don't have the answer. I only have the ache in my hands and a God who seems to want them, despite their trembling.