Before You Feel Ready

Context

King Uzziah just died. He'd ruled for fifty-two years, so for almost everyone alive he was the only king there'd ever been. The country goes leaderless and anxious overnight. And Isaiah, already on the prophetic payroll, walks into the temple to pray on the worst week in living memory.

Story

The roof comes off. The Lord is on a throne, the robe fills the whole temple, and six-winged fire-creatures circle the room shouting holy holy holy until the doorposts shake. Isaiah does not say wow. He panics.

"I'm a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King."

Before he volunteers for anything, he's convinced he doesn't even qualify to be standing there. Then a seraph carries a burning coal from the altar and touches it to his mouth. No quiz, no probation, no vetting. His guilt is gone, done. Only then does God ask who he should send. And Isaiah, who two minutes ago was sure he'd combust, says here am I, send me.

What We Learn

Most of us are waiting for the version of ourselves that finally feels qualified to raise a hand. That version isn't coming. The coal arrives mid-mess, while the smoke is still in the room.

You don't get clean and then say yes. You say yes and find your mouth already different.