Within the Sound of Sinew
There are times when the Lord intervenes and, without a word or warning, makes what was broken whole again.
I have found, more often than not in my own situations, He chooses to lead me straight into the valley — not to frighten me, but to show me something. Although He is perfectly capable of handling situations Himself, in His amazing wisdom, grace, and love, He chooses to partner with me. He consistently breathes hope into things I may see as beyond revival. And sometimes, in the middle of that valley, I hear Him say, “Come up here — I want to show you some things.”
He doesn’t have to explain anything. He could simply say, “Because I’m God — that’s why.” Truth is, He created me to be a digger, and I believe He is pleased when I question things — not out of irreverence, but from a real desire to see His perspective. So, in typical Tina fashion — the Jack Russell in the spirit that I am — I dig under the fence and jump up on the high spot to see something new and feed my curiosity. He lets me glimpse the process, just enough to understand that His ways are higher, His timing deliberate. It’s His invitation to step closer, to see through His eyes what my heart can’t yet make sense of.
And yet again, this is another time where I stand there looking at what’s left: a heap of dry bones, scattered and silent. And everything in me wants to turn away, to say, “It’s too far gone.”
But then comes that still voice — “Can these bones live?”
And something stirs in me. Not an answer, but a hope. Because I remember that before breath ever filled those bones, there was a moment when God told Ezekiel to speak — and as he spoke, there was a sound. The bones began to rattle. Sinews stretched over what was once separate. Flesh began to form. It wasn’t life yet, but it was motion... and that’s something.
Let me sit here a minute. Some folks debate whether the stories in the Bible are literal or symbolic — just parables to teach a lesson. Sure, there are parables, and the word parable itself (Greek parabolē) means “to cast alongside” — a story laid beside a truth to illustrate it. Jesus used parables as teaching tools, and the Gospels say so plainly; everyone listening understood He was using a story to make a spiritual point. But when Scripture recounts events like Jonah and the fish, Ezekiel’s vision, the Red Sea parting, or Daniel in the lions’ den, those are not introduced or framed as parables. They’re written as accounts of God’s power.
Can I imagine a fish swallowing a man? Not even a little. That thought alone would just about take me out. There isn’t a smelling salt, calming candle, or essential oil strong enough to bring me back if I ever witnessed that — yet I still believe it is what it is. Like any good Father, He says what He means, and He means what He says.
So when I think about those bones beginning to rattle, all my senses kick into overdrive. Funny thing is, it doesn’t freak me out. Even with all the talk about sinew and tendons — and trust me, ask my mama, I usually run from such conversations — this story makes me lean in, and it sparks a burning expectation within me.
If you haven’t heard the song “Rattle” by Elevation Worship, I invite you to let your soul soak that one up. It paints the picture and builds the anticipation — that quickening that happens when you realize you’re witnessing a miracle begin to move. When has impossible ever stopped God?
So maybe that’s where I am right now — in the sinew stage. The place between silence and song. The space where faith takes shape before the breath comes. This is the place where my faith must carry me.
So today, I’ll be grateful for the sinew — for the sound of things beginning to come together.
And tomorrow, I’ll wait for the breath of the Lord that says, “Live again.”
Because what He did then, He can still do today. There is hope.
While writing this piece, Paul Simon’s “The Sound of Silence” kept humming in my head. His lyrics have always felt like a warning — a world full of voices but empty of understanding, people speaking without hearing. But this time, I heard something else echoing underneath: the space where God begins to move before anyone notices.
In Simon’s world, silence was loss. In mine, silence is where resurrection starts — the moment within the hush when the sinew forms and hope begins to move.