Story Behind The Song

As producer for Out of the Whirlwind, I wanted to have some spoken word pieces on the album. Tanya and I were at breakfast one morning and she mentioned she might have something. When I got around to recording her, I hadn't heard anything beforehand. After she finished in one take, I was literally speechless. Very powerful.

Song Description

an exploration of how no matter what difficulties may befall us, God is still creator and in ultimate control

Lyrics

These streets?
Still sacred.
Cracks in the concrete can't cancel the Creator.
Stores with boarded doors
Still sit under a sky God spoke into position.
Sirens screaming in the city don't silence His sovereignty.
Shootings, systems, statistics
But He's still Supreme.
Mental illness in the alleys. Mommas losing sons in silence.
Babies born into brokenness. Still...
God breathes.
Breath still breathes.
Wind still winds.
Time still ticks and none of it ticks without Him.
He is the Operator of Oxygen.
Master of Movement. He can be your Commander of Chaos.
Because even in this mess He ain't moved off the throne.
The judge is crooked.
The rent is climbing.
The lights got shut off.
But the sun still rises. The moon still mirrors.
The trees still sway like they know they're being watched.
Cause He's God. He's still God.
Loud voices. Lying laws.
Still God.
Food deserts. Fatherless homes.
Still God.
Politics, pandemics, polluted minds.
Still God.
Sickness, suicide, systems built to see us fail.
Still God.
Still the Source. Still the Sustainer. Still the Same.
And while people try to play God on paper,
He still paints sunsets with no permission.
He still rotates the earth without a committee.
Still lets rivers run wild and galaxies spin without supervision.
You think your struggle shook Him? You think injustice interrupts Him?
He is thunder in stillness.
Fire in fog.
Holy in HOOD spaces.
His breath don't need boundaries.
His Spirit don't need a stage.
And His streets? Yeah, these streets are holy.
Holy like the burning bush in barren land.
Holy like the manger in a dirty stable.
Holy like the tomb where death got embarrassed.
Holy like the cracked cement under your Air Force Ones.
These streets are stained with sorrow, but He walks them.
Not just in sanctuaries, but under streetlights, through train cars,
inside trap houses and trauma centers.
He is the God of the gutters.
The glory in the grief.
The King of the concrete.
The light behind locked doors.
He is still God.
Not retired. Not removed. Not remote.
He is a wind-walker.
Wall-shaker. Word-giver.
Worship-writer. Warrior and whisperer.
Still God when the food stamps run out.
Still God when the schoolbooks lie.
Still God when the pills don't work.
Still God when the father left.
Still God when the church judged.
Still God when hope hangs on by a thread.
Still the God who spoke and galaxies gathered.
Who breathed, and man stood up.
Who walked, and demons begged to leave.
Still the lion with a lamb's voice.
Still the fire with a healer's hand.
Still the Alpha. Still the Omega.
Still the "Let there be" and there was.
Still speaking. Still hovering. Still holy.
So don't let the chaos confuse you.
Don't let the news numb you.
Don't let the noise of now make you forget the eternal I AM.
Because while man loses control He's never had to fight for it.
He is still God
Still breathing. Still burning.
Still building. Still bold.
Still beautiful.
Still... holy.
Still God.