Danny Gokey + Lilly Goodman - No Lo Has Visto Aún Lyrics
Lyrics
¿Estás orando, y no tienes contestación?
¿Has derramado en el altar tu corazón?
¿Te has preguntado, el por qué todo sigue igual?
¿Y has llorado ya tu fe sin solución?
No olvides lo que Él ha hecho ya
Y que Él una vez más así lo hará
Es como el brillo del sol
Esperando el pasar de la oscuridad
No pierdas la esperanza, cree que
Quizás tu no lo haz visto
No lo has visto aún
Más cerca de lo que crees
Solo a momentos del amanecer
El milagro que te va a conceder
Quizás tu no lo has visto
No lo has visto aún
Antes del problema
Él ya tuvo la solución
Él ve lo mejor aún si te sientes el peor
Y en medio de dudas
No dudes de su amor por ti
Porque solo en su amor la victoria tendrás
El se mueve con su amor real
Aleluya la victoria está
Lo que empezó a hacer lo va a completar
No lo vemos pero creemos
Video
Danny Gokey, Lilly Goodman - No Lo Has Visto Aún
Meaning & Inspiration
My Bible sits heavy on the nightstand, its spine held together by packing tape and a prayer. I’ve spent enough decades watching the sun sink behind the hills to know that some nights, the dark doesn’t just feel like the absence of light; it feels like a wall.
When Danny Gokey and Lilly Goodman sing, “¿Estás orando, y no tienes contestación?” (Are you praying, and have no answer?), it hits that old ache in my knuckles. I remember sitting in a hospital chair twenty years ago, watching a monitor blink, feeling like my prayers were hitting a ceiling made of brass. We are taught to be persistent, to knock until our hands are raw, but there is a brutal silence that follows sometimes. It’s easy to sing about faith when the house is quiet and the tea is warm. It’s another thing entirely when you’re staring at the clock, wondering if God has simply stopped listening.
Then they sing, “No lo vemos pero creemos” (We don’t see it, but we believe).
I’ve spent a lifetime trying to reconcile that tension. We are told in Hebrews that faith is the evidence of things not seen—it’s not a polite suggestion; it’s the bedrock. But honestly? It’s a hard cross to carry. I’ve lived long enough to see the patterns, though. I look at my own life—the losses I thought would bury me, the times I was sure the story was over—and I realize now that the soil was never actually barren. It was just waiting.
There’s a strange, quiet mercy in the line “Antes del problema, Él ya tuvo la solución” (Before the problem, He already had the solution). It humbles me. My pride wants to know the "why" and the "when." I want to see the blueprints. But God doesn't show His math. He just offers His presence. That realization doesn't make the pain go away—my back still hurts when it rains, and the grief for people long gone still pricks at my eyes—but it shifts the weight.
I don’t know if this song is just something for the young folks to hum along to in their cars, or if it has the grit to hold up when the lights go out for good. But when my own strength is spent, and the words in my head turn into static, I find myself circling back to that simple stubbornness: believing what I can’t see.
I’m still here. I’m still waiting for the dawn. And I suppose that, in itself, is the miracle. It isn’t always the big, thunderous change we scream for in our youth. Sometimes, it’s just the ability to wake up one more morning, take a breath, and believe that the silence hasn't been empty after all.