Dry Bones in a Valley

This is a body of broken bones. This is a body of dry bones. This is a body lain in the garbage and rubble of the valley we would rather not remember. This is death. This is me.

A man comes by and clothes this body. He puts a white robe on it and stands there, his own flesh withering as the sun beats down until only his bones remain. He puts his robe on me and lifts me to my feet, moving my arms and legs like a puppet until they seem able to move on their own. They move on their own, but I know beneath the robe is a mound of broken bones. Beneath the robe is a mound of dry bones. These bones are worth nothing. They deserve only to be ground into dust that they may scatter in the wind. And he leaves me here.

I look around. I am clothed in a white robe, and should anyone look at me, they would see a whole being, but that is not who I am. I am a pile of broken bones. I am a pile of dry bones. People come by and say, “But you are loved. You are whole. You are complete. Look at the beautiful robe you have. You are covered. You are washed in the blood of the lamb. You are made new, and you can stand in full confidence of God’s forgiveness.” But they don’t see beneath. You see, beneath is a pile of…

I lift the edge of the robe to show you, but the words on my tongue are a lie. I would have said, “Beneath is a pile of broken bones. Beneath is a pile of dry bones.” But I don’t see bones under the robe. I see a whole human foot covered in skin. I see it connected to a whole human leg with hair growing on it. The hair would seem unseemly to an American, but the Europeans wouldn’t mind. I feel my belly and find it is a reservoir of organs covered in skin. I cannot reach my hand through to feel my spine, the broken and dry bones holding up the broken and dry ribs which are no longer broken or dry, but wrapped in flesh and protecting a beating heart beneath. And this skin can feel the breeze sweeping around it, and I can smell the stench of the garbage I’ve lived in for so long, but I can also smell the flowers in the field nearby. It’s the field he went to. It’s the field he invites me to.

Things to pray for:

I don’t know if I like my job. Please pray that I will do my best work anyway, because my coworkers look at me and see someone who loves Jesus.

Pray I will have boldness and opportunity to share the gospel with my coworkers. Because that is my real job.

Pray that I know what it means to obey the Holy Spirit and that I will know when to retreat and rest and when to be with people and work.