Danny Gokey - Ama A Dios Y A Tu Vecino Lyrics

Album: Ama a Dios y a Tu Vecino (feat. Redimi2) - Single
Released: 07 Aug 2020
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Lyrics

VERSE 1

Le he dado mil vueltas

A mis problemas

Muy envuelto en lo que tengo que hacer

Me siento agotado

Todos mis intentos

De ser perfecto

No hacen nada más que hacerme dudar y me atrasa el miedo

 

PRECHORUS

Dios solo quiere mi amor

Más nada que mi corazón

No lo quiero complicar

En su plan puedo confiar

 

CORO

Es así de sencillo

Es muy sencillo

Hay que volver a nuestro principio

Sobre todo ama a Dios

y a tu vecino

Vivimos en un mundo herido

Si quieres levantar al caído

Sobre todo ama a Dios

y a tu vecino

 

VERSE 2

Me siento libre

El reino en mi vive

El saber que en su amor hay vida y verdad

Me da ganas de celebrar

 

BRIDGE

El amor paciente es

Todo puede transformar

Lo que al mundo puede restaurar

 

RAP

Estaba confundido,

Pero ya lo he entendido,

Lo oscurecido se ha esclarecido,

Se trata de amar sin ser presumido,

Porque él que no ama es porque a Dios no ha conocido.

Prevalecen la fe, el amor y la esperanza,

Pero el amor debe dominar en la balanza.

Voy a amar con el amor que de Dios he recibido

El que levanta y restaura al caído.

 

Es mucho más que un sentimiento,

El amor que sobrepasa todo entendimiento,

Sin egoísmo, sin buscar protagonismo,

Ama a Dios sobre todo y a tu prójimo como a ti mismo.

 

Sigue amando

Sigue amando

Es como cambias el mundo

Ay ay

Ohh oh whoa

Video

Danny Gokey, Evan Craft - Ama A Dios Y A Tu Vecino ft. Redimi2

Thumbnail for Ama A Dios Y A Tu Vecino video

Meaning & Inspiration

"Le he dado mil vueltas."

Danny Gokey and Redimi2 begin here, and the phrase hits with a jarring familiarity. To give something "a thousand turns"—dar mil vueltas—is an idiom for overthinking, for the restless pacing of a mind trapped in its own room. It is the mental equivalent of wringing one’s hands until the skin is raw. Literally, it’s a waste of kinetic energy; spiritually, it is a declaration of independence from God. It suggests that if I just rotate the problem enough times, if I inspect the edges of my anxiety from every possible angle, I might finally manufacture a solution.

But the text treats this restlessness as an obstacle to the "principio"—the beginning, the origin point. By focusing on the math of my own efforts ("mil vueltas"), I am actively excluding the God who operates outside of my frantic geometry.

There is a tension here between the poetic rhythm of the song and the exhausting reality of the human condition. When Gokey sings about trying to be "perfecto," he’s touching on the vanity of the law. We treat the Christian life like an exam we are desperate to pass, obsessing over the grading rubric, pacing back and forth, turning the paper over and over, hoping the answers will manifest through sheer agitation. We treat the faith like a puzzle to be solved rather than a person to be known.

The radical shift in the lyrics—the pivot from the "mil vueltas" to the "sencillo" (simple)—feels almost reckless. Is it truly that easy? Scripture leans toward the affirmative: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind" (Matthew 22:37). But notice how the song pairs this with the neighbor. The "mil vueltas" are usually selfish; they are me-centric. Loving the neighbor is the antidote to the nausea of self-obsession. When you are busy looking at the "mundo herido," the world that is wounded, you stop spinning in your own interior chaos.

The poetry here is not trying to be clever or cryptic. It is arguably a bit blunt, bordering on a Sunday School cliché. Yet, there is a certain mercy in that simplicity. By stripping away the theological gymnastics, the song demands a return to the baseline of existence. If the "mil vueltas" are the static noise of my own ego, then loving the neighbor is the signal breaking through. It stops the spinning. It forces you to put your feet on the ground and look at someone else, which is, perhaps, the most difficult thing a human can do.

It leaves me wondering: if I truly believe it is "sencillo," why do I keep walking back to the corner to pace? Why does the "mil" feel so much more comfortable than the "uno"? We prefer the complexity of our problems because it gives us a job to do. Simplicity requires us to be still, and for the restless, that is the most terrifying move of all.

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