Bone upon bone.

Nothing is going to happen until you prophesy ...

We all face difficult times in life where things do not go according to plan—times when we feel that we've dropped the flaming torch, taken a wrong turn, been let down, and sometimes just crushed by the heavy-handed circumstances of life.

You might relate, or you've yet to face those challenges. When you do, just remember, "All things work together for good ..." Amen.

Hold your horses! Life is not so simple. That encouragement from Romans 8:28 is brilliant, a life-saver, but I think our challenges are also worth fighting through because of the lessons God may choose to take us through—always with the end in sight. For our good.

A prime example is Ezekiel's vision of the dry bones. Read the verse aloud to yourself:

"Then he (God) said to me, ‘Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD. Thus says the Lord GOD to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.’” —Ezekiel 37:4-5

There are moments in life when everything feels lost. When the battlefield is almost silent, the dust settled, the silence thick with the weight of what once was. If you stand long enough in that silence, you might just hear the whisper of the past—echoes of struggle, pain, and even the heavy hand of judgment.

That’s where we find Ezekiel, staring into the vision of a valley of death, a place where bones lay scattered—bleached by time, robbed of identity. No names, no faces, just remnants of men who once fought, lived, and hoped. And now, for them, it is all over, and all that could have been... is silent.

How did they die? Did the bones belong to warriors who once laughed, ate, drank, and slept under open skies together and then, in conflict, perished in battle? A forgotten army lost to time? Was it war, famine, or disease that brought about their demise?

We aren’t told the details, but we don’t need them. Death is death, and this was devastation on a scale that left no survivors. The bones, we are told, were very dry—not freshly fallen but long dead, forgotten by the world, untouched even by scavengers. This is a formidable, devastating vision, and Ezekiel is looking in—but so are you. What do you see, think, hear?

Ezekiel is standing in a vision that he didn't ask for, but he is also standing in reality. Israel was a broken people, scattered in exile, far from their home, far from their God. Once, they had a king. Once, they had a temple. Once, they had promise and purpose. But sin had led them here—to judgment, to suffering, to this valley of forgotten dreams.

And then God speaks. God "shows" because He is about something. God is about to speak, and in response, consider what your first, best, immediate response would be...

"Son of man, can these bones live?"

Ezekiel does not pretend to know the answer. He does not offer false optimism. He simply says, "O Lord GOD, you know."

And that’s the turning point. It was never about Ezekiel’s power, never about Israel’s strength, never about whether they deserved another chance. This was about the God who speaks life where death and utter chaos have reigned.

"Prophesy over these bones," God commands. "Say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD." Do it!

Not just a whisper of hope. Not just a vague encouragement. A command. A declaration. Live! Feel the tempo change, the atmosphere thicken—the mood music is no longer the Jaws theme music.

Suddenly, a noise—deep, low, rising from the vibrating ground. The rattle of bone against bone, the grinding of lifeless remains shifting, moving, reassembling. Can you hear it? That holy, unsettling sound of resurrection in progress? A sudden surge of Divinity at work—acting in incomprehensible exertion, with impunity and full expression of omnipotence. I couldn't word it heavily enough!

Sinews form, flesh covers, bodies take shape—but still, they are not alive. Not yet. Because bodies without breath are still corpses, and movement without the Spirit is still death.

So God speaks again. "Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, ‘Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live.’”

And in an instant, the wind rushes in. The breath of God moves, and life surges back into those once-lifeless forms. An army rises—not just men, not just bodies, but a force of the living, restored, redeemed.

What does Ezekiel see—what do you see? He sees that death is not final. That loss is not the end. That where the world sees ruin, God sees revival. And listen—what does he hear? The sound of God’s power, the unmistakable voice of the One who alone can raise the dead, restore the broken, and breathe hope into the hopeless.

What is this vision about? It is about Israel, yes—their return, their restoration, their redemption. To read Ezekiel properly and get what God is saying, you have to see that it is about more than that, though. It is about the very nature of God—a God who does not abandon, who does not forget, who steps into the places of despair and speaks life where there is none. Let that ignite something in your heart...

And now... awkwardly, the question turns to you.

Have you heard that voice? Have you seen that power? Have you stood in the valley of your own brokenness, your own emptiness, and dared to believe that God is not finished with you yet? Here’s the truth: without Him, we are all dry bones. Our ministries, our churches, our dreams—they can look good on the outside, well-formed, structured, impressive even, but if the Spirit is not in them, they are just bodies without breath. Just organised death. Projects, plans...

What is the radical challenge for us? It is to hear the word of the Lord. To believe that He still speaks, still moves, still breathes life. It is to stand where Ezekiel stood and dare to prophesy—to declare that what is dead will live, that what has been abandoned will be restored, that the breath of God is still enough to awaken the lifeless. It's good news for you... Maybe your ministry feels like a valley of dry bones, or your faith has grown cold, brittle, lifeless.

Maybe the battle has been long, and you’re standing wearily and broken in the aftermath, wondering if there’s any point left in hoping.

Then hear this: God is not done. The vision may depart, but the overwhelming truth of the message remains—the bones are still listening, and the breath of God is still moving-blowing.

So stand. Speak. Prophesy. Believe. And watch as the valley—your valley—comes to life.