I wasn't simply writing about Ezekiel 37. I was living it. The dry bones of something I had almost forgotten I loved were coming to life before my eyes.

Sometimes what we have quietly accepted as finished may not be finished at all.

Beneath what appears buried or forgotten, Life may still be moving — waiting to be recognised in a form we never expected.

Not every change announces itself when it arrives.

Sometimes, somewhere within the ordinary rhythm of life, we simply notice that what once felt fragmented has grown quieter — and something within us has gently begun to settle.

Sometimes the dreams we have quietly laid down are not as lost as they seem.

In places where hope has been deferred and the soil has felt empty for a long time, we may begin to notice the smallest shoots of Life appearing again.