Danilo Montero - En Tu Amor Lyrics

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Cantare de tu amor - Danilo Montero

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, and the ink on the pages of my old hymnals has faded to a soft grey. When I sit in the quiet of the evening, the kind where the house settles and the shadows stretch long against the wall, I don’t look for noise. I look for something that holds weight.

Danilo Montero sings, "Tu amor es más profundo que los mares de este mundo," and I find myself pausing. It’s a simple line, isn't it? But when the doctor’s voice turns low or when the grief of losing friends begins to stack up like fallen leaves in autumn, "deep" is the only word that matters. Most things in this life are shallow. They are ripples on a pond that disappear the moment the breeze stops. But we are told in Ephesians that the breadth and length and height and depth of His love is something that surpasses knowledge.

I’ve spent forty years trying to get to the bottom of that love, and I still haven't touched the floor. That’s the tension, I suppose. I keep trying to map out a God who refuses to be surveyed.

Then there is that line, "El viento sopla, el instrumento que toca mi canción." There was a time when I thought I was the one playing the music, back when my lungs were full and my pride was even fuller. I wanted to be the virtuoso. Now, looking at the way the light hits the floorboards, I realize I’m just the instrument. The wind blows, and if I’m hollowed out enough—if the years have scraped away enough of my ego—maybe a note of His grace comes through. It isn’t about my talent; it’s about being used by the One who breathed the wind into existence to begin with.

I don’t know if this song is meant to be studied, but I know it feels like a place to rest. When the strength is gone and the lights have flickered out, the vastness of the sea isn't a metaphor anymore. It’s an anchor.

Sometimes, I struggle with the "infinity" he sings about. It’s hard to believe in anything infinite when you’re staring at the fragility of your own skin. I find myself sitting there, wondering if the promises still hold when I’m this tired. Yet, I keep humming along. I don’t have all the answers—the theology is a bit messy at my age—but I know the relief of letting the creation do the work of worship when I’m too weary to lift my own voice. It’s okay if the song ends and I’m still left with questions. He’s still there, beneath the depths, still blowing through the reeds. That’s enough for tonight.