What Jesus Means to Me

Some songs are written with pen and paper, and others are written through tears and time. This one began as a prayer, not for music, but for meaning. I didn’t set out to write about Jesus; I simply asked God to help me say what my heart couldn’t. What came out wasn’t crafted, it was given.

It’s strange how a single question can stop you in your tracks: What does Jesus mean to me?  That was a question that Steff asked in our church email.  There was going to be a period of reflection where we could share a short testimony to what Jesus meant to us.

At first, I didn’t even know how to begin. How can anyone possibly sum that up? Every time I tried to put it into words, they fell short, too small, too shallow for what my heart wanted to say.

Years ago, I prayed and told God, I wanted to sing about Him, but I didn’t have adequate words. And in that quiet space, I felt Him say, “Then just sing that.” So I did. And that’s how my very first song was born, a song not necessarily of eloquence, but of honesty.  This was written in a prison cell in 1996.

Words Cannot Express How Much You Mean to Me

Words cannot express how much you mean to me.
The love I have inside cannot be spoken.
Every waking hour, of every day,
My love grows deeper in the most peculiar way.

You lighten up my tomorrow,
With a bright ray of hope.
You’re the rainbow that follows the rain,
You’re a beacon to guide me,
A shelter to hide me;
A haven in the stormy sea.

You’re there when I need You,
I just want to please You,
But my words cannot express
How much You mean to me.

That song was simple, maybe even naive, but it came from a real place, a moment when I realised that my relationship with Jesus wasn’t about performance, perfection, or religion. It was about presence.

I still can’t find the perfect words, but I’ve learned to live them instead. Because Jesus isn’t just my Saviour, He’s my reason.

He’s the One who stepped into my brokenness, not to clean it up from a distance, but to sit beside me in the prison cell and turn the walls into a sanctuary. He’s the One who replaced the voice that called me worthless with the whisper that said, “You were worth dying for.”

To me, Jesus is freedom, but not just freedom from sin, but from the false self that I had created to survive in this world. He’s Peace that doesn’t depend on conditions. He’s Home; the place where my soul finally stopped running.

He’s also my purpose. Every scar I carry has become part of His story told through me. Every door I walk through now isn’t about comfort, but about calling. I don’t just believe in Him; I belong to Him.

And when I speak His name, in my poems, my sermons, my quiet prayers, I’m not talking about a distant God. I’m speaking of my closest Friend, my Redeemer, my everything.

If I had to put it all in one sentence, I’d say this:

“Jesus means to me what breath means to the living.  He is my life.”

As you finish reading, I’d like to invite you to pause for a moment and ask yourself the same question that once stopped me in my tracks: “What does Jesus mean to me?“

Don’t rush the answer. Let it rise quietly from your heart. Maybe, like me, you’ll find that words fall short, and that’s okay. Sometimes love speaks loudest in silence.

If you ask Him sincerely, He’ll show you, not just in words, but also, in the way in which He meets you; right where you are. And when He does, you’ll know what I mean when I say:

“Jesus isn’t just my Saviour; He’s my reason.“