Aline Barros - Redenção Lyrics
Lyrics
Quero estar tão perto e só ouvir o Teu querer Deus, eu Te entrego tudo e ganho tudo em Te ter Quero estar tão perto e ouvir Teu coração Deixar a minha vida ser guiada por Tuas mãos
Canto o Teu santo nome E o impossível se rende aos Teus pés Seu poder incomparável Não há outro, Rei sobre todos
Jesus, a mais bela canção de amor Jesus, o presente que Deus me enviou Jesus, trouxe luz pra minha escuridão Jesus, uma nova história, minha redenção
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Canto o Teu santo nome E o impossível se rende aos Teus pés Seu poder incomparável Não há outro, Rei sobre todos
Canto o Teu santo nome E o impossível se rende aos Teus pés Seu poder incomparável Não há outro, Rei sobre todos
Jesus, a mais bela canção de amor Jesus, o presente que Deus me enviou Jesus, trouxe luz pra minha escuridão Jesus, uma nova história, minha redenção
Jesus, Jesus, a mais bela canção de amor Jesus, o presente que Deus me enviou Jesus, trouxe luz pra minha escuridão Jesus, uma nova história, minha redenção
Jesus Canção de amor
Video
Aline Barros - Redenção
Meaning & Inspiration
The air in the pigpen doesn’t just leave your clothes; it gets into your skin, your hair, the way you breathe. You spend enough time living in the mud, eating what’s meant for the trough, and you start to think that’s the only oxygen you’re ever going to get.
Then Aline Barros sings about the "impossível se rende aos Teus pés" (the impossible surrendering at His feet), and for a second, my chest tightens. It’s not just a nice thought. When you’ve been as far gone as I have, you don’t think in terms of miracles; you think in terms of consequences. You think the impossible is staying broken forever. You think the distance you put between yourself and the Father is a permanent chasm.
But hearing her say that—that the impossible just bows down—it makes me think of the way the father in the story didn't wait for me to get cleaned up. He didn't wait for the smell to fade. He just met me on the road.
"Jesus, trouxe luz pra minha escuridão" (Jesus, you brought light to my darkness).
People love to sing that part like it’s a bright, neon sign switching on. For me, it’s different. It’s more like that first moment you crawl out of a basement after a long time in the pitch black. The light hurts. It stings. It reveals all the dirt I thought I’d hidden in the shadows. It’s an ugly grace, really. It’s messy because it forces me to look at the filth I was trying to normalize.
There’s a tension there that I don't think ever really goes away. I’m standing here, listening to this, and I’m still wearing the rags. I’m still shaky. I’m still not sure I belong in the house, let alone at the table. I read in Luke 15 that while I was still a long way off, He saw me. He didn’t wait for me to get my act together. He didn't ask for a resume or a promise that I wouldn't run again.
I don’t know if I’ll run again. That’s the part that keeps me up. But when she sings about this "nova história" (new story), I’m forced to admit that the pen isn't in my hand anymore. I’m not the author. And honestly? Thank God for that. I’ve made a disaster of every chapter I’ve tried to write on my own.
Maybe the rescue isn't about becoming a different person. Maybe it’s just about finally being home, smelling like smoke, standing in the light, and realizing that the impossible isn't that I was saved—it’s that He wanted me back in the first place. My hands are still dirty, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not trying to wash them myself. I’m just letting Him do it.