Matt Redman - My Soul Is Complete Lyrics

Video

Matt Redman - 10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord)

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands have developed a tremor lately, the kind that makes holding an old, soft-backed hymnal feel like a chore. You spend forty years walking through the fire—some of it the world’s doing, some of it your own foolishness—and you start to realize that the loudest songs aren’t always the ones that keep you breathing at 3:00 a.m. when the house is quiet and the chest pains start fluttering.

When Matt Redman sings, "When all is lost, You remain," it hits a nerve that’s been exposed by time.

See, when you’re young, you sing those words like a promise you’re making to God. You’re standing there, chest out, ready to conquer the world for the King. But the older I get, the more those words sound like a desperate anchor. There have been seasons in this life—long, dry ones—where I honestly didn’t know if I had enough faith left to move a pebble, let alone a mountain. I’ve sat in the pews with knuckles white, clutching the wood, wondering if the "hope" I’ve been talking about is just something I’ve told myself to avoid the dark.

And yet, in the exhaustion, there is that line: When all is lost, You remain. It’s not a theological argument. It’s a fact that survives when everything else—my reputation, my bank account, my own sense of self-worth—has been stripped away. It’s the stubbornness of the Creator who refuses to leave the room when the lights go out. It reminds me of Lamentations 3:22-23, that His mercies are new every morning, even when I don’t feel like getting up to meet them.

Then there’s the talk of being "complete in Jesus." I used to think that meant having all the right answers, or having a life that looked like a testament to God’s blessing—a nice car, a quiet marriage, a tidy walk. But "complete" feels different now. It feels more like being hollowed out so there’s finally enough room for Him to occupy the space. It’s a messy process, being emptied. It’s uncomfortable to realize that you aren't the hero of your own story.

I don’t know if I’ll ever truly understand what it means to live with "hands held high" when the body is failing and the world feels increasingly like a "broken place," as Redman calls it. Sometimes, my hands are just too tired to be held high. Sometimes, they’re folded in my lap, shaking, waiting for the strength to just get through the next hour.

But maybe that’s the real worship. Not the performance, not the grand gesture, but the quiet, trembling admission that even when I’m not capable of anything, He is still there. He’s the one constant in the wreckage. I’m still learning how to let that be enough. It’s not the bright, shiny noise of a young man’s crusade, but it’s a song that carries enough weight to sink into the marrow of your bones when you need it most.