Ezekiel 37:1–14
There are seasons when life takes the breath right out of us. Sometimes it’s the long stretch of worry we’ve carried. Sometimes it’s the decisions we didn’t want to make. Sometimes it’s the quiet ache of exhaustion that settles deeper than sleep can reach. And sometimes, we just feel empty. Like Ezekiel standing in that valley of dry bones, we look around and see pieces of ourselves scattered: hopes that didn’t unfold the way we imagined, energy we no longer have, burdens we’ve tried so hard to shoulder alone.
God leads Ezekiel right into the middle of that valley and asks a question that feels almost unfair:
“Can these bones live?”
If Ezekiel had answered honestly, maybe he too felt bone-tired. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he wondered if there was enough left in him to believe anything could change. But God doesn’t ask the question to test Ezekiel’s faith. God asks the question so Ezekiel can witness what God does in places where life seems impossible. Because the miracle in this story doesn’t begin with bones rattling back together. It begins with breath.
The Hebrew word – ruach – means breath, wind, Spirit. The same breath that moved across the waters in Genesis. The same Spirit Jesus breathes on his disciples. The same wind that fills the church at Pentecost.
It’s God’s breath, not ours, that begins the work of life.
And maybe that’s the hope we need most when we feel stretched thin: We don’t restore ourselves. God restores us. We don’t breathe life back into our own tired bones. God does.
Sometimes we try so hard to force renewal, to pep-talk ourselves back to strength, to push through when we are empty, to keep moving even when the wind has left us. But the valley teaches us something gentler, something truer:
- When you cannot breathe, God breathes for you.
- When you feel empty, God fills the space with presence.
- When your bones feel dry, God whispers life until you feel the faintest hint of hope stirring again.
And notice: the bones do not leap to their feet all at once. First bone to bone. Then sinews. Then flesh. Then breath. Restoration is slow, steady, sacred work. Piece by piece, God puts us back together.
Maybe this week you feel like those scattered bones. Maybe your prayers feel thin. Maybe your energy feels gone. Maybe you’re still wondering if your own valley could ever hold life again.
Hear the promise spoken across centuries:
“I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live.”
Not because you’re strong. Not because you’re ready. But because the Spirit meets you exactly where you feel empty, and breathes until you can breathe again.
Take some time this week to sit in the valley with Ezekiel, to listen for the rattling of new life reforging, to new breath being given, and reflect with these questions.
- What has taken the breath out of you lately emotionally, spiritually, or physically?
- Where in your life do you feel “dry” or worn down?
- What might it look like this week to let God breathe for you, rather than trying to force strength on your own?
- Can you name one small place where you sense even a gentle stirring of renewal?
Let’s Pray:
Breath of Life, when we feel dry, worn thin, or scattered across the valley, meet us again with your renewing Spirit. Call us back to ourselves. Call us back to hope. Call us back to life. Breathe into the places we’ve forgotten, revive the strength we’ve laid down, and remind us that nothing – nothing – is beyond your restoring love. AMEN
