Here am I

“Here am I… send me.”

I thought it would mean nations. Influence.

I thought it would mean adventure. Purpose. Holy ground soaked in glory.

I didn’t realize it would first mean empty rooms.

Or seasons where the only revival would be inside my breaking heart.

I didn’t know saying yes to God would mean being sent into the valley.

Sent into aching silences.

Sent into a wilderness so deep I would forget what laughter sounded like.

Sent into heartbreak that knocked the breath from my lungs.

Sent into rooms where I was misunderstood, misrepresented, misquoted.

Sent into battles I never volunteered for.

Sent into seasons where the only thing growing was the ache.

Had I known, I may have paused.

Had I known the cost, I may have asked to be spared. But oh… what I would’ve missed.

I would’ve missed Him sending me into the shelter of His arms.

I would’ve missed the way His nearness becomes oxygen in the dark.

I would’ve missed the way He meets me in the exile , not with an escape, but with Emmanuel.

God. With. Me.

He sent me into the valley… but He didn’t leave me there alone.

He sent me into the heartbreak… but He became the balm that bound up every piece.

He sent me into loss… but He became the resurrection and the life within me.

He sent me into betrayal… but He whispered, “I know. I was betrayed too.”

He sent me into loneliness… to teach me what communion really means.

He sent me into rejection… to remind me I am chosen.

He sent me into silence… so I could hear His whisper more clearly.

He sent me into the depths… so I would discover the depths of Him.

This is the beauty nobody talks about when they say, “Here am I, send me.”

That before you’re sent to platforms, you’re sent to the secret place.

Before you’re sent to multitudes, you’re sent to the wilderness.

Before you’re sent to the nations, you’re sent to your knees.

And that is mercy.

Because when He sends you, He doesn’t just send you for Him.

He sends you into Him.

Into His nature.

Into His sufficiency.

Into His goodness that does not waver with your surroundings.

So yes, Lord.

You can still send me.

Even if it’s into the ache.

Even if it’s into the quiet.

Even if it’s not what I expected.

Even if it costs more than I thought I had to give.

Because I’ve seen what comes after the valley…

I’ve seen what happens when the seed breaks open in the dark.

And I know now: the sending is never without purpose.

Here am I. Send me again.

Even if it breaks me—if it makes me more like You.