Holding On to the One Who Reigns Above It All

This fear is very real. It’s not some abstract worry floating around my mind—it’s something I can taste and feel. It sits heavy in my chest, wraps itself around my thoughts, and whispers lies in the quiet moments. It’s the kind of fear that comes uninvited, creeping into the corners of the heart, making even the familiar feel foreign. It makes the air feel thick, the light seem dim, and hope seem far away.

When darkness tries to hold me hostage, when it convinces me that I’m trapped and that there’s no way out, I’ve learned that I have a choice—even if it’s the hardest one I ever make. I can let fear define me, or I can hold on to the One who already defeated it.

Because everything feels lost sometimes. The people we love slip away, the plans we made fall apart, the world we thought was steady suddenly shifts beneath our feet. And in those moments, fear doesn’t just knock—it barges in. It takes our peace hostage, clouds our vision, and tries to make us forget everything we know to be true.

But even in that darkness—even when fear feels bigger than faith—there’s a hand reaching through it. There’s a voice, calm and unwavering, saying, “You’re not alone. I’m still here.”

So I hold on. Sometimes with strength, sometimes with shaking hands, sometimes with nothing more than a whisper of hope. I hold on to the One who reigns above it all.

Because He does.

He reigns above the storm that terrifies me. Above the thoughts that spiral. Above the nights that stretch too long. Above the pain that doesn’t make sense and the silence that feels unbearable. He reigns above the darkness that tries to convince me that it’s won.

And when I remember that, something shifts inside me. Fear doesn’t vanish instantly—it’s still real, still heavy—but it starts to lose its power. Because when I lift my eyes and fix them on the One who sits above it all, I remember who He is.

He’s the God who parts seas. The One who commands the winds. The One who brings light out of shadow and life out of graves. He’s the One who doesn’t flinch at my fear or my frailty. The One who isn’t disappointed when I’m scared, but draws closer instead.

And so I breathe. I breathe in His presence, and I exhale the panic. I remind my heart that fear might be loud, but it’s not Lord. Darkness might surround me, but it doesn’t own me. I belong to the One who reigns.

When I look back at my life, I can see it now—every time fear said, “You won’t make it,” He was already making a way. Every time the darkness tried to close in, His light broke through. Every time I felt lost, His love found me. I see how many times He’s held me steady when I was sure I’d fall. How many times He’s carried me through nights I thought would never end.

Fear might be real—but so is faith. So is grace. So is the hand of God holding mine when I can’t take another step.

So I’ll keep holding on. Not because I’m fearless, but because I’m loved. Not because I’m strong, but because I know who is.

The darkness will come again—it always does—but this time, I’ll remember: it can’t win. Because the One who reigns above it all already conquered it.

And when I can’t see the way forward, I’ll keep my eyes fixed on Him. The One who reigns above the chaos, above the fear, above the storm, above everything that tries to steal my peace.

And as long as I hold on to Him, I’ll never truly be lost.