The way gets hard, the road is rough, the struggles unending. The soul is parched and body whittled away until all that is left are dry bones. All that has been given has been used, all that was in reserve is gone, and there is nothing but the shadow of them holding body and soul together. The landscape is some weird arid scene with glowing white dusty bones littering the ground. Each step a struggle, each movement an ache, and every dream lost as if it had never been. All around is nothing but emptiness, loneliness, and the husk of what we once were.
Yet, the prophet looked at the scene and shared the message of God, the message of hope and message of promise: these bones WILL live again. These bones will breathe life once more.
It is in the exhalation of our last breath of effort that we inhale the presence of God. It is in the last slumping step before we crash that we feel the arms of God. It is in that last empty void of self, pride, our own effort that we are filled with the loving grace and mercy of God.
The way may be hard, now. Rest assured, however, these bones of a life of meaning, purpose, and contentment will rise again.