Maverick City Music + Majesty Rose + Bri Babineaux - Love is A Miracle Lyrics

Video

Love is a Miracle (feat. Majesty Rose & Bri Babineaux) | Maverick City Music | TRIBL

Meaning & Inspiration

My hands have grown spotted and stiff over the years, and the pages of my old hymnals are worn thin, yellowed at the edges from the humidity of too many humid summers and the salt of tears shed in the dark. I spent this morning sitting on the back porch, listening to Maverick City Music, Majesty Rose, and Bri Babineaux sing about miracles, wondering if these words hold up when the bones start to ache and the world feels increasingly quiet.

There is a line in their song that caught me: “Now I’ve got praise for heaviness.”

It is a difficult thing to reconcile. In my youth, I thought praise was a song you sang when the sun was high and the pantry was full. But after forty years of walking through fires that burned away more than I wanted to lose, I’ve learned that praise is a strange, stubborn thing. It doesn’t usually feel like dancing. Often, it feels like sitting in a chair, unable to fix what is broken, and choosing to acknowledge that God is still sitting there with you. It is the weight of a grief that won't lift, pressed against the weight of a God who refuses to leave. Isaiah 61:3 speaks of the "garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness," and I have come to see that garment as something that doesn't just hang on the body; it weighs you down in the best way possible. It anchors you when you’re drifting.

Then there is the line, “Now I’m dancing out my grave clothes.”

I’ve had to bury friends, dreams, and pieces of my own pride. I know what it is to wrap yourself in the linen of disappointment, to stay in the dark because it feels safer than the light. When you’re young, you imagine the resurrection as a clean exit from a tomb. But at my age, I see it more as a slow, clumsy shedding of old, dusty skin. You don’t just walk out; you leave behind the habits of fear and the bitterness you kept as a security blanket.

Does this song hold water when the lights are low? I think it does, but not because it’s easy. It’s not just a upbeat melody for a Sunday morning. It’s a confession. When Bri and the others sing about mercies in the morning, I find myself thinking of the gray, predawn hours where I wake up not feeling particularly holy, but simply alive. That is the miracle, isn’t it? That God shows up even when we are too tired to reach for the hymnal, and even when the "grave clothes" feel more comfortable than the freedom we claim to want.

I’m still working on that praise for heaviness. Some days I’m better at it than others. The music stops, the silence returns, and the fire still flickers, but the warmth is there. That’s enough.