Danilo Montero - Admirable Lyrics

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Admirable - Danilo Montero (Álbum completo)

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands have grown stiff, the knuckles swollen with the quiet aches that come after decades of hard living. When I open my old, dog-eared hymnal, the pages crackle like dry leaves, and I find myself looking for something that holds weight—not just melody, but gravity. Danilo Montero’s Admirable is a song I’ve kept on the shelf for a long time. It feels different now than it did when my hair was still dark and my knees didn’t give me trouble.

There is a specific line that stops me in my tracks these days: “Admirable consejero, mi dios consolador.”

It is easy to sing about power and authority when you are young. We like the imagery of victory—the “con poder y autoridad” that speaks of a God who crushes death. That feels like a shield when you are charging into the battles of middle age. But now, in the quiet hours of the evening when the house is still and the shadows stretch long across the floor, I don’t need a King who is merely distant or triumphant. I need a Counselor who knows the architecture of my grief.

When Montero calls Him “mi dios consolador,” it hits a nerve. In the Greek, the word for Comforter, Parakletos, suggests someone called alongside to help. It isn't a shout from a throne; it is a presence in the room. I’ve spent forty years watching friends go to the grave and seeing dreams fold up like maps that don’t lead anywhere. When the lights go out, the talk of “celestial thrones” can feel cold if you don't believe He is also sitting in the chair right next to you.

I struggle with it, sometimes. I look at the state of the world, and I wonder why the “Príncipe de Paz” feels so quiet while the noise of the earth grows so loud. Is He really still reigning when the floor falls out?

Scripture tells us in Isaiah 9:6 that these names—Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace—were given to a child born in a stable. That is the tension I sit with. We worship a God who is both the absolute Sovereign over death and the one who understands what it is to be fragile.

Maybe these words aren't just for the stadium or the choir loft. Maybe they are for the bedside. When I whisper “Admirable” now, I’m not just praising a distant monarch; I’m acknowledging that He is the only one who can make sense of the mess I’ve made and the wreckage I’ve seen. I don’t have all the answers—some days I don't have any—but holding onto that name feels like gripping the banister when the stairs get steep. It isn't loud, and it isn't fancy, but it is enough to keep me upright until the morning.