Ryan Stevenson - This I Know Lyrics
Lyrics
I gotta be honest, this life has taken turns that I never wanted, It's kinda chaotic Spend all of my time living up in my head, prepping my mind for another upset Strip it all back till the only thing left is you, nothing but you.
Even when it hurts, I'm not letting go For the Lord my God is faithful this I know, this I know Come pain, come heartache, it is well with my soul For the Lord my God is faithful this I know, this I know
I've learned to get what you want's maybe not what you need I've learned that faith is a fight and it's more than you see I've learned that pain is a gift when it leads you to Christ I've learned that beauty can dawn from the darkest of nights.
When I'm swinging my fists, taking hard hits, feelin like I'm gonna break When I'm holding back tears, counting lost years, watching my dreams slip away Go on and let it cave in, get me out of my skin I've been getting in my own way Need you to do whatever it takes, whatever it takes.
Written by R. Stevenson, B. Fowler, M. Kiuper
Video
Ryan Stevenson - This I Know (Official Music Video)
Meaning & Inspiration
The danger in modern congregational music is the tendency to turn our internal monologue into a public declaration. Ryan Stevenson’s This I Know dances right on that edge. When I’m putting together a set, I look for songs that do more than just vocalize our stress. I look for songs that move the focus from the internal noise to the external anchor.
There is a line in this track: "Strip it all back till the only thing left is you, nothing but you."
That’s a terrifying prayer if we actually mean it. Most of the time, when we sing about being "stripped back," we’re just asking for relief from a headache or a bit of breathing room in our finances. But to strip everything back until God is the only thing standing? That’s Job sitting in the ashes. It’s the kind of honesty that doesn't usually make it onto a Sunday morning slide deck because it’s messy. If we sing this, we’re asking for the removal of our crutches—the ego, the plans, the specific outcomes we’ve been white-knuckling.
I’m thinking about how this plays out in the room. If we get the melody right, it feels like a cathartic release. But is it a "me-centered" maze? It starts there, certainly. We’re talking about my head, my upsets, my swinging fists. But then the pivot happens: "I've learned that pain is a gift when it leads you to Christ."
That’s the turn. That’s where the liturgy actually happens. It’s an echo of James 1:2—the idea that the trial isn’t just something to endure, but a tool for refinement. Most people walking through the doors on Sunday are carrying a bag of "lost years" they’re still mourning. When Stevenson sings, "When I'm holding back tears, counting lost years, watching my dreams slip away," he’s hitting a nerve that most worship songs are too afraid to touch. We usually prefer to sing about victory, but the victory is hollow if we don’t acknowledge that we’re currently in the middle of a war.
The "Landing" is the phrase, "For the Lord my God is faithful this I know."
It’s a simple, rhythmic affirmation. I wonder, though, does the congregation actually know that, or are they just repeating a slogan? I’m caught on the line, "Need you to do whatever it takes, whatever it takes." That’s a risky request. We pray for "whatever it takes" while hoping that "whatever" doesn’t look like more hardship. But if the song forces us to settle on the faithfulness of God—not our current comfort—then it’s done its job.
I’m left with the uneasy feeling that we don’t sing enough about the "darkest of nights." We want the dawn. We want the beauty. But the song forces us to admit that the beauty comes from the dark. It’s not just an escape from it. If we can lead people to that realization—that God is found in the wreckage of their own expectations—that’s a liturgy that sticks.