She’s Still Breathing, But Barely
Part 1 of the Resurrection Power Series
When Going Through the Motions Is All You’ve Got
You set the alarm for 5:30 AM because someone on the internet said the secret to a better life was waking up before the chaos.
So you did. For about three days.
Now your alarm goes off and you lie there, already tired before your feet hit the floor. The coffee helps, but only enough to get you moving. Not enough to make you feel alive.
You get the kids ready. You smile at your coworkers. You answer the texts. You show up at church and sing the songs and nod at the right moments. And when someone asks how you’re doing, you say what you always say:
“I’m fine.”
But you’re not fine. You’re functioning. There’s a difference.
The Valley Nobody Talks About
In Ezekiel 37, God takes the prophet to a valley full of dry bones. Not cracked bones. Not bruised bones. Dry bones. These bones had been there so long that every bit of life had left them.
And God asks Ezekiel something that, honestly, feels like a question He might be asking you right now: “Can these bones live?”
I wonder if Ezekiel looked at those bones the way you look at yourself some mornings. The way you look at your marriage, your energy, your faith, your joy. Everything looks so far gone that “alive” feels like a word for other people.
Here’s what I love about Ezekiel’s answer. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He said, “Sovereign Lord, You alone know.”
That’s not doubt. That’s surrender. And sometimes surrender is the most honest prayer you can offer.
The Myth of Having It All Together
We live in a culture that glorifies being busy. Your worth gets measured by how full your calendar is, how many plates you’re spinning, how little sleep you can survive on and still show up with a smile. And if you’re a woman of faith, there’s an added pressure to do all of that while being “joyful.”
But here’s what nobody says out loud: chronic exhaustion is not a badge of honor. It’s a signal. Your body is telling you something. Your spirit is whispering that this pace was never what God designed for you.
Research shows that prolonged stress physically changes your brain. It shrinks the areas responsible for memory and emotional regulation and enlarges the areas wired for fear. That foggy, disconnected, can’t-feel-anything state? It’s not weakness. It’s your nervous system in survival mode.
You’re not broken. You’re depleted. And those are two very different things.
What God Does in the Valley
Back in Ezekiel 37, God doesn’t tell the prophet to go fix the bones. He doesn’t hand him a self-help book or a 12-step plan. He tells Ezekiel to speak to them. To prophesy over them. To call life into what looked completely dead.
And then God did what only God can do. Bone connected to bone. Tendons appeared. Flesh covered them. And breath entered them.
Notice the order. God didn’t start with the breath. He started with the structure. He rebuilt them piece by piece before He breathed life into them.
That’s where you are right now. You might feel like nothing is happening. Like the prayers aren’t working. Like the Bible feels flat and the worship songs feel hollow. But what if God is doing the structural work right now? What if He’s reconnecting things in you that you can’t see yet?
The breath is coming. But first, He’s putting you back together.
I’ve Been in That Valley
There I was, just a few days after Valentine’s Day, and what happened next I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
I know I’m not the only one this has happened to. But at that time, I felt completely alone. Abandoned. And there was a good reason for the emotional state I was in.
I had come home from work to an empty apartment.
No living room furniture. No dining room furniture. Even the refrigerator had been removed, and all of its contents were placed on the counter. Most of it had spoiled from sitting there for who knows how long. The only thing left behind was the bed, which I had brought from my place when we moved in together ‘prior’ to marriage. That’s a ‘single life’ conversation for another day.
After only four months of marriage, I found myself alone. Trying to figure it all out. It didn’t make sense to me, because my own parents were going to celebrate their 26th wedding anniversary later that year. That’s all I knew about marriage. Longevity, no matter what.
Nothing had prepared me for this, and as far as I could tell, there were no signs that it was even coming. I replayed the script over and over again in my mind. He was good to me. His family was good to me. At no time did I ever feel like a stranger in their home or mine.
We had enjoyed our time together, and he had spoiled me in so many ways. As a new bride, I did my best to take care of him. But to no avail. He had other plans. Plans that didn’t include me.
He left me with the bills. He left me with the rent. He left me.
I immediately called a dear friend who came over to console me. But how could I have expected her to fully understand what I was going through? She had never been married. Still, I appreciated the fact that she was there. By my side. She had been there from the very beginning when I first met my ex-husband.
There was no explanation. Not even a phone call. Well, not until he called to let me know he had filed for a divorce. I waited and waited for the documents to arrive, but knowing he was never coming back, I eventually went to the courthouse myself to make sure there was a filing, and I completed my part. Because it had been less than six months, I was able to annul the marriage. I didn’t ask for anything. I was so numb.
All I had was a bed and my dear friends.
I hadn’t known the Lord personally until seven years later. That experience was one of many of life’s unwelcome surprises that eventually drove me to Him. But in those years before I knew God, the replaying was relentless. Day and night, the same questions on repeat: What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? Did he even really love me?
I was breathing, but barely. Going through the motions with a smile that fooled everyone. I didn’t have the language for it then, but looking back, I was living in my own valley of dry bones. Everything that felt alive in me had dried up. And I didn’t know that the God who puts bones back together was already making His way toward me.
If you’re in that valley right now, I want you to know something: you don’t have to have it figured out. You don’t have to understand why. You just have to still be here. And you are.
That’s enough for God to work with.
Your Permission Slip
So here’s what I want you to hear today. Not as a preacher. Not as someone who has it all figured out. But as a companion who has sat in that exact valley and knows what dry bones feel like.
You have permission to not be okay right now.
You have permission to put the cape down.
You have permission to tell God the truth about where you are, even if that truth is just: “I don’t have anything left.”
Because that’s exactly the kind of honesty that God works with. He doesn’t need your performance. He needs your presence. Even if your presence looks like lying on the floor and whispering, “Help.”
He’s standing in your valley right now. And He’s asking you the same question He asked Ezekiel: “Can these bones live?”
You don’t have to know the answer. You just have to be willing to let Him show you.
Your Turn
I’d love to hear from you.
Where are you in this season?
Are you in the valley of dry bones right now, or are you starting to feel something shift?
Drop a comment below. Even if it’s just two words: “Me too.”
You’d be amazed how powerful it is to simply say it out loud.
And if you know a woman who needs to hear this today, would you share this with her? She might be the one who’s been saying “I’m fine” and meaning the opposite.
She’s still breathing. And God isn’t finished.
"sometimes surrender is the most honest prayer you can offer." oof! c'mon! That is some preaching right there