Learning to dance again—those words mean more to me now than ever. Last year, as autumn leaves began to fall, I reflected on how everything in this world eventually fades. I was bracing for another Thanksgiving and Christmas season with a painfully empty spot in our family circle. The weight of grief was so heavy that some days, I felt I could barely hold it together. And even now, some days still feel like "dry bone" days, days when exhaustion settles into my soul. But every now and then, I hear laughter and realize—it's coming from me. Slowly, I sense that God is healing me, bringing life back to my weary bones, redeeming my pain, and rekindling my hope.
If you're new to this grief journey, please remember it's a process. It's challenging and often feels like it stretches endlessly. But there's hope, even on the darkest days. Grief has taken so much from me—strength, joy, and even the forward-thinking part of me that used to dream and plan. I once thrived on big visions for the future. Now, I am simply surviving day by day. I understand now why Naomi, in the book of Ruth, wanted to change her name to Mara—meaning "bitter." Her heart was heavy, and she could see nothing beyond her pain. She'd lost everything she held dear and all her hope for the future. She was worn out, feeling as if God had abandoned her. I can picture her, dried up to her bones, feeling like a shell of her former self.
The vision God gave to Ezekiel resonates with me deeply. In Ezekiel's vision, he saw a valley of dry bones, lifeless and stripped of all hope. Then, God told Ezekiel to speak to the bones: "Prophesy to these bones and say to them, 'Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!'" And God promised life would return to them. He would add tendons, flesh, and skin and breathe life into those dead bones so they would live again. I find myself longing for that same breath, for God's life-giving spirit to fill my dry bones, to revive what feels lost. So, I read His word and remind myself of His promises, holding tight to the hope that He will redeem every ounce of my sorrow and pain.
He is the God of resurrection and restoration, the breath of life itself. I am holding onto that truth, trusting His heart, and believing in His promise. One day, these dry bones of mine will dance again. And if you are doing your best under your circumstances, know that you, too, will dance.
