Hillsong Worship - Quien Dices Que Soy Lyrics
Lyrics
Quién soy yo para que el gran Rey Me acepte así Me encontró en mi perdición Su amor por mí Oh su amor por mí
Libre soy en Él Libre en verdad Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy
Libre soy Él me rescató Su gracia en mí Aun siendo yo pecador Él murió por mí Él murió por mí
Libre soy en Él Libre en verdad Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy En tu casa Dios Sitio hay para mí Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy
Escogido Perdonado Yo soy quien dices que soy Vas conmigo A mi lado Yo soy quien dices que soy
Escogido Perdonado Yo soy quien dices que soy Vas conmigo A mi lado Yo soy quien dices que soy Yo soy quien dices que soy
Libre soy en Él Libre en verdad Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy En tu casa Dios Sitio hay para mí Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy
En tu casa Dios Sitio hay para mí Soy hijo de Dios Sí lo soy
Video
Quien Dices Que Soy - Hillsong en Español
Meaning & Inspiration
There is a curious friction in the phrase, "Sitio hay para mí."
When Hillsong Worship sings of a "sitio"—a place, a spot, a chair—in God’s house, the literal meaning is mundane. It suggests a physical capacity, an architectural allowance. It sounds like an invitation to an event where there might otherwise be a crowd. But the spiritual implication is far more destabilizing. If there is a "sitio" for me in the house of the King, it implies that without His intervention, I would be standing in the doorway, or perhaps, strictly excluded from the guest list.
The word "sitio" hits me because it exposes the tension between my own restlessness and the permanence of grace. We spend so much of our lives trying to carve out space, trying to belong in circles that move too fast or require too much. To claim that there is a place for me in God’s house is to accept a seat I did not earn and could not construct. It forces a collision between my self-made insignificance—the feeling of being an outsider—and the objective reality of the gospel.
It echoes the logic found in Romans 5:8, where Paul writes that Christ died for us while we were still sinners. That is the definition of a "sitio" provided by someone else. You don’t reserve a seat for a guest you don’t intend to welcome. The theological weight here is heavy: my inclusion isn't a fluke, and it isn't based on my ability to occupy the space correctly. It is based on His decision to make room.
Yet, when I listen to this sung in Spanish, there is a lingering, sharp discomfort. Am I really sitting there? Or am I still standing at the threshold, clutching my bags, waiting to be told to leave?
"Sitio hay para mí" can sound like a hopeful wish or a desperate plea. It walks the line between a claim of inheritance and an acknowledgment of unworthiness. The poetry works precisely because it refuses to resolve that anxiety. It doesn’t say, "I am sitting comfortably." It says, "There is a place." The reality of the place exists, whether I have fully settled into it or not.
Perhaps that is the point. Maybe we are meant to live in the tension of that "sitio"—always aware that the seat was prepared before we arrived, yet perpetually surprised that it remains empty for us when we finally show up. It’s a strange, quiet kind of grace. It isn't about being loud or certain; it’s about acknowledging that for someone as chaotic as me, the King cleared a space. That is a hard thing to believe, and I’m not sure I’ve fully finished believing it yet.