The Practice Was Just the Door. What’s Inside Will Undo You.
It wasn’t just silence anymore.
It became the way I learned when to stop speaking—
especially when the easy thing was mockery.
The practices weren’t the destination.
They were the door.
And walking through meant being changed.
Inside the Writing of When Breath Comes: Can These Bones Live?
A Look Inside the Process: Waiting for the Right Words to Come
Writing When Breath Comes: Can These Bones Live? isn’t just about putting words on a page—it’s about wrestling with them, waiting for them to land just right. Some ideas arrive fully formed, while others take hours, days, even weeks of sitting in the quiet, turning them over, feeling for the weight of truth in them.
I’ve spent late nights and early mornings with this book, shaping and reshaping sentences, making sure they hold. This isn’t just a book—it’s a journey, one that I am walking alongside you.
Today, I’m sharing the introduction. This is where it begins. I want you to read it, sit with it, and tell me—does it resonate? Does it hold weight? Does it name something real in you?
The valley isn’t the end. Breath is coming. But first, we stand in the silence.
Let me know what stirs in you as you read.
Breath to Bones: Recovering an Embodied, Living Faith
Faith doesn’t die all at once.
Most often, it withers under the weight of performance—when practices become obligations, when prayer becomes effort, when we measure our worth by what we do rather than who we are.
And one day, we wake up in a valley of dry bones, wondering if what once felt alive is gone for good.
"Son of man, can these bones live?" (Ezekiel 37:3)
It is not a question of possibility—it is a question of imagination.
Because faith is not something you resurrect by force.
It is something God breathes back to life.
The first breath comes before the first step.