The hush of the sanctuary held its breath during this stunning rendition of ‘How Great Thou Art.’

Stained glass caught the afternoon light, spilling rubies and sapphires across the marble floor as if heaven itself leaned close to listen. And there she stood—Laura Bretan, dressed in a flowing gown of crimson and royal purple, like the sky’s final exhale before twilight.

Her voice rose, pure and unshaken, like the first tremor of dawn breaking over the hills. Her voice was a sacred invitation to step beyond the weight of the world and into the throne room of the Almighty.

Laura, this young woman who once stood on grand stages under the glare of Hollywood’s lights, now stood at the altar of something far greater. The depth of her voice carried something richer than mere talent—it bore the weight of eternity. Every note, every syllable carved out space in the soul, making room for awe.

In a world spun dizzily with hurry, where screens flicker, and voices clamor for attention, her voice slowed time. It was the kind of sound that made you forget the pressing demands, the endless to-do lists, the headlines that steal breath. Instead, it made you remember—make you see—the stars flung wide, the thunder rolling in the distance, the hands that formed both galaxies, and the fragile pulse in your wrist.

Laura didn’t just sing—she worshiped. And in that sacred offering, something shifted in the room. Because when a soul sings truth when it proclaims the greatness of God with nothing held back, it has a way of unraveling the knots in another’s spirit.

How does one sing of the cross without trembling? Of love so vast, so incomprehensible, that it bore the weight of sin and shattered the curse of death? She sang it like she knew—like she had stood beneath that bloodstained wood, like she had seen the mercy poured out, like she had felt the nails in her own hands.

How could a song be both a thunderstorm and a whisper? How could it hold both the weight of the world and the lightness of grace? The final verse came, and the room could hardly contain it.

Her voice soared—higher, fuller, breaking through ceilings, through sky, through whatever veil separates earth from heaven. And then—silence.

Laura Bretan had done more than sing. She had ushered in the presence of God. And for those sacred minutes, the weight of glory had pressed close, and weary souls had remembered:

How great Thou art.

How great Thou truly art.

1 Chronicles 16:23 "Sing to the Lord, all the earth; proclaim His salvation day after day."