Ezekiel 37:5 — “This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life.”
The valley was full of bones. Dry ones. Brittle, bleached, scattered bones that hadn’t felt life in a long, long time.
When God led Ezekiel there, I imagine he tried not to look too closely. I would’ve done the same. Who wants to stand in a place that smells like loss? Who wants to face the remains of what used to be — dreams that didn’t work out, relationships that fell apart, callings that went quiet?
But that’s where Ruach shows up.
Not in the tidy, not in the temple.
In the valley. Among the bones. The dead, dried up, scattered – bones.
God asked Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” and the prophet gave the only honest answer there is: “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” Translation: “How the heck would I know???!? But we can see what happens.”
And that’s where the miracle begins — not with certainty, but with openness.
Ezekiel starts to speak life where death has been holding court. He watches as bone connects to bone, sinew to sinew, skin forming over what had been forgotten. It’s progress — but still lifeless. It looks right on the outside, but there’s no breath in it yet.
That part hits close to home.
How often do we rebuild what’s fallen apart — the routines, the ministries, the relationships — and yet still feel hollow?
How often do we look put together, but the Ruach hasn’t filled us yet?
Then comes the next invitation: “Prophesy to the breath.”
Call it forth.
Invite Spirit in.
Don’t just rebuild — reanimate.
When Ruach entered those bodies, they stood up. Not as scattered pieces, not as almost-living things — but as a vast army, whole and alive again.
Sometimes we have to walk into our own valleys — the ones littered with what used to be — and dare to believe breath can find bones.
Maybe Ruach doesn’t avoid our emptiness. Maybe it’s drawn to it.
Because only where something has died can resurrection begin.
So if you’re standing in a valley today — unsure, exhausted, staring at the remains of what once felt full of promise — don’t rush past it. I won’t. And I’m in a bit of a valley. Actually – a large valley. And I’m guessing the message this week was as much for me as it was for you.
But – guess what!
Listen.
You might hear a whisper.
A stirring.
The faint sound of bone clicking against bone.
That’s Ruach.
That’s the Spirit moving, reminding you that what feels over isn’t finished.
The same breath that raised the bones in Ezekiel’s valley is still breathing now — still restoring, still reviving, still whispering over the dry and weary places in us all.
Because Ruach always finds its way home.
Grace and Peace,
Andrea