I speak, and heaven bears witness.
I speak, and it is prophesied.
What my heart longs to see is set in motion
by the words that flow from my mouth.
In the middle of the valley, in the eye of the storm,
in the deepest darkness, in the driest desert,
where bones lie scattered and dry, where hope seems to have fled
Still, I will speak.
I will prophesy things that are not, as though they already are.
For faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen
belief without wavering, trust without fear.
So I speak to the storm: “Peace. Be still.“
I command the darkness to give way to light.
I call forth rivers in the desert and flesh upon these dry bones.
For you shall live and not die.
I call upon the breath of God, the Spirit from the four winds
to breathe upon every slain dream, every weary soul,
every lifeless place, that it may live again.
Then rise. Stand upon your feet. Lift your head high.
Declare with confidence: This too shall pass.
For the words I have spoken will bring life and not death.
The enemy spoke death to bury me, but the grave could not hold me.
What was meant to be my ending became the place of my rising.
I will rise from the ashes.
I will rise from the valley.
I will rise because it has spoken.
And when it’s spoken, no darkness can silence it,
no storm can stop it, no grave can keep it.
So I will keep speaking.
For there is power in my words,
because my voice has the power to create,
to heal, to restore, and to transform.
Today, I choose words that create life.