Danny Gokey - 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 asà 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 Quizás tu no lo has visto No lo has visto aún
Antes del problema Él ya tuvo la solución (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
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 Quizás tu no lo has visto No lo has visto aún
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
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
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 Quizás tu no lo has visto No lo has visto aún Quizás tu no lo has visto No lo has visto aún
No lo has visto aún
Video
Danny Gokey, Lilly Goodman - No Lo Has Visto Aún
Meaning & Inspiration
I find myself sitting here tonight with a cup of tea that’s gone cold, thumbing through the edges of a Bible that’s lost more spine than I have. My hands don't move like they used to, and the silence in this house can get loud enough to hear your own heart drumming against your ribs. Danny Gokey sings about the sun waiting to break the dark, about the miracle you haven't seen yet. It’s easy to sing that when your voice is young and your eyes are sharp. But when the night stretches on for years, not just hours, the song changes.
There is a line in the track that stopped me cold: "Antes del problema, Él ya tuvo la solución."
We love to claim that in the sunshine. We pin it on our walls. But when you’re standing in the thick of a storm—when the doctor’s room turns cold or the chair across from you stays empty—that thought is a difficult pill to swallow. It asks a lot of us. It asks us to trust a blueprint we aren't allowed to see. I think of Habakkuk, a man who saw the walls crumbling and had the gall to ask God where He was standing while it all fell apart. God didn't give him a map; He gave him a call to wait.
"Waiting" is a word we’ve cheapened. We use it for bus stops and grocery lines. But the waiting I’m talking about—the kind Gokey touches on—is a furnace. It’s the kind where you leave pieces of your pride behind. You don't just wait for the outcome; you wait for the change in your own marrow.
Gokey sings, "Lo que empezó a hacer lo va a completar." That’s a nod to the promise in Philippians 1:6. I’ve lived long enough to see things "completed" that looked nothing like what I originally petitioned for in prayer. Sometimes, the completion isn't the fix; it’s the quiet realization that you aren't the person you were before the fire started. The silver is refined, but it’s still silver—it’s not gold, it doesn't pretend to be iron. It’s just been held over the flame until the dross burned off.
Is it "young man's noise"? Maybe in the way he delivers it, with that fervor that hasn't been dampened by a thousand disappointments. But the ache behind the words is ancient. I look at my worn hands and I think, maybe I haven't seen it yet. Maybe the "amanecer"—the sunrise—isn't about a change in circumstance, but a shift in the light itself.
I’m left with the quiet. The song ends, the record stops, and the world is still dark. But there’s a stubbornness in the faith this music leans on. It’s the stubbornness of a gardener who plants seeds in October, knowing full well he might not be the one to gather the fruit in the spring. You believe because the alternative is to be consumed by the night. So, you keep the lamp trimmed, you listen to the melody, and you wait. Even if you don't see it yet. Especially if you don't.