Ryan's Ramblings

Praise the Lord! Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever.
—Psalm 106:1 (ESV)

That phrase—“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever”—is one of the great pillars of Scripture.

It appears again and again throughout the Old Testament—spoken, sung, proclaimed, and remembered. Sometimes it rises from moments of celebration. Sometimes it’s whispered in desperation. Often it’s heard in seasons when the evidence on the ground didn’t seem to match the confession on the lips.

Which makes me wonder if the power of that line isn’t only in how often it’s repeated in Scripture, but in how often it’s meant to be repeated in us.

Because all of us live with a recurring voice. It plays in the background of our minds—a sentence that resurfaces when we’re tired, a phrase that shows up when things are hard, or when we feel small, or when we fail.

Some of those voices are harsh and defeating: You’re behind. You’re not enough. You’ll never change.

But not every recurring voice is destructive. Some are redemptive. Some are anchors. Some are gifts handed to us long before we knew we’d need them.

One of mine came from my grandad.

I grew up on a small corner of his farm, and it was my privilege to spend my childhood working alongside him—milking cows, irrigating fields, feeding cattle, stacking hay, fixing fences, picking rock from the fields, and repairing whatever broke that day. In the midst of that work, as a kid I had a bad habit of saying, “I can’t.”

I’d try to roll a heavy hay bale into place. “I can’t.”
I’d reach into a tight spot to grab a dropped bolt. “I can’t.”
I’d struggle to pound a nail straight. “I can’t.”

Every time, my grandad would look at me—never harsh, never irritated—and say the same thing:

“Aww… can’t died.”

That was it. No lecture. No shame. Just a matter-of-fact declaration. In other words, can’t didn’t live there anymore. It had no authority. It didn’t get to decide what was possible—leaving only try and can.

Decades later, when the work feels heavy, the task feels beyond me, or fear whispers that I’m incapable, that old phrase—can’t died—still comes to mind. Not as a slogan or a strategy, but as a remembered voice—steady, patient, and kind. Before I argue with fear or try to outthink it, those simple words rise up and do what they’ve always done: they make room.

Scripture is clear about the source of the voices that diminish and accuse. They do not come from the Father who delights in His children. They come from the enemy who lies and condemns.

But Scripture is just as clear about the voice God gives His people—a refrain meant to be remembered when courage runs thin:

“The Lord is good. His steadfast love endures forever.”

Not because everything is easy. Not because we are strong. But because God is faithful—and He has not left us to face the work alone.

Scripture does not speak of God’s steadfast love as a distant idea or an abstract quality. It speaks of it as something living and enduring—something that comes near. And in the fullness of time, that steadfast love did not remain only a phrase to be repeated, but it became a life to be encountered. God’s goodness took on flesh—loving, patient, and kind—and moved into the midst of our fear and failure.

Maybe that’s why Scripture repeats that line so often. Not to inform us, but to re-form us. To crowd out the voices that tell us who we aren’t with the truth of who God says we are.

So here’s the invitation: carefully consider the voice that repeats itself in you. Notice what it says when you’re tired. Listen to what it tells you when you’re afraid. And if it is not rooted in the goodness of God and the endurance of His love, it does not get the final word.

Some voices need to be challenged. Some need to be replaced. Some need to be laid to rest.

After all—can’t died.

And Jesus—the steadfast love of the Lord—is very much alive.