Author Darlene J. Conard

There’s an electrifying energy infusing the atmosphere. For days now, I’ve felt it surge through the air—an unmistakable anticipation whispering of transformation. The winds of change are not just coming; they are here, bracing everything they touch and stirring a sense of possibility in my very soul.

Ezekiel stood at the edge of the valley, his gaze sweeping across a desolate expanse steeped in silence. The air hung heavy with the residue of death, as though time itself had paused to mourn. Below him, the valley’s mouth gaped open like a wound in the earth, and within it lay a chaotic scattering of bones—sun-bleached, brittle, and broken. They were not arranged in any order, but strewn like forgotten remnants of a once-living multitude. Rib cages lay cracked and hollow, skulls tilted as though still searching for heaven, femurs tangled in dust and sorrow.

It was not merely a graveyard—it was a canvas of devastation, a place where life had been drained so thoroughly that even memory seemed to have fled. I don’t know how you would feel standing there, but for me, the sight would be nothing short of terrifying. Not because of the bones alone, but because of what they whispered: that hope had once lived here—and had long since died.

We are at a pivotal moment where each of us is standing and gazing over a seemingly impossible situation that looks dry, brittle, and bleached. It may seem like Satan has the upper hand. However, the real question isn’t whether or not God can do it; the question is whether we are going to exercise our authority in Christ.

Ezekiel, can these bones live? The valley yawns with silence, its floor littered with the brittle relics of despair. Skulls stare skyward, as if still waiting for mercy. Ribs curve like empty cages, longing for breath. And the voice of the Lord pierces the stillness: “Son of man, can these bones live?” Not a question of anatomy, but of faith. Not a test of logic, but of vision. Speak, Ezekiel. Speak to the bones. Speak to the wind. Call forth sinew, flesh, and breath. For even in the valley of death, Hope is not buried. It waits to be summoned.

Ezekiel stood amidst the desolation of the valley, a deep sense of foreboding in the air. He didn’t falter or hesitate, uttering words like, “Maybe,” or “I’m not sure; it looks hopeless, Lord.” Instead, with unwavering faith, he declared, “You know all things, Lord.” In that moment, he fully recognized the immeasurable wisdom and unparalleled power of God.

Following God’s command, Ezekiel’s voice became a vessel of divine prophecy. As he spoke, the air around him seemed to tremble with anticipation. Suddenly, a low, reverberating sound began to emerge from the depths of the valley—the unmistakable clanking and clattering of bones. It was as if they were responding to some celestial call, a chorus of the forgotten awakening.

Before his very eyes, the scattered skeletons danced to an unseen rhythm, their dry and lifeless forms transforming into flesh and vitality. The miraculous metamorphosis unfolded in front of him, a vivid testament to the power of faith and the promise of life restored. Read Ezekiel Chapter 37

We must position ourselves at the entrance of our valley, taking charge of the life and renewal that surrounds us. A transformative work is unfolding, guided by divine purpose. Are you prepared to embrace this change?

 ^“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.”— Isaiah 43:19 KJV

Feel free to forward it to anyone you wish.  My mission is to encourage everyone to follow our Lord Jesus Christ with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength. ©Darlene J. Conard Vision Ministries 2024.   This may not be republished or used without the author’s written consent. The photograph is AI-generated. Darlene J. Conard is also affiliated with Glory Carrier Ministries.

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