Therefore, thus says the Lord,
‘If you return [to Me], then I will restore you—
Before Me you will stand;
And if you extract the precious from the worthless [examining yourself and cleansing your heart from unwarranted doubt concerning My faithfulness],
You will become My spokesman.
They must turn to you,
But you must not turn to them.’”
— Jeremiah 15:19 (AMP)
As I read this, boy, did it sit in my spirit.
Like a stone thrown deep into a well, it rippled across layers of my soul. Not just because of the words themselves, but because of the weight behind them—the Father’s tone, the instruction, the invitation, and the rebuke all wrapped into one. When the Lord speaks to Jeremiah here, He’s not just addressing a prophet in the midst of personal despair—He’s speaking to us. This is a line-in-the-sand moment, and it comes with something I’ve come to recognize as a holy pause. A breath. A realignment.
Because don’t we all need this reminder… almost continually?
It makes sense, really. Our spirit man must be continually fed. And yet how often—if we’re honest—do we feast on everything else but the Word? How often do we allow our flesh to dine in abundance while our spirit sits malnourished? Starving? Withered in the corner?
If we’re going to fast—let it be the flesh we deny.
Let the cravings of the world be what we push away.
So our spirit can sit down at the King’s table and feast.
Not snack. Not nibble. Not sample.
Feast.
He doesn’t say, “taste now and then.”
He says, “Feast on My Word.”
Consume it. Let it drip down your chin. Let it fill your bones.
And this passage from Jeremiah—this is part of the feast.
Let’s break the bread together.
—
“Therefore, thus says the Lord [to Jeremiah],”
God isn’t vague.
He’s specific.
He’s speaking directly to Jeremiah in this moment. But prophetically, He’s also speaking to anyone called to stand in truth in a culture bent toward compromise. That means you. That means me.
Because you don’t need a pulpit to be a prophet.
You need proximity.
And you don’t need a title to be a representative of the Lord.
You need a heart that listens.
—
“If you repent [and give up this mistaken attitude of despair and self-pity]…”
Oof.
The Lord doesn’t just call out the behavior—He calls out the attitude.
The inner posture. The mindset.
And how many of us need to hear this today?
How often do we spiritualize what is actually self-pity?
How often do we camp in discouragement and call it a wilderness season?
How often do we disguise despair as spiritual struggle—when really, we’ve just lost sight of the feast?
Repentance, here, isn’t just about sin.
It’s about a mental shift. A re-centering. A turning from what feels true to what is true.
And what’s the reward?
—
“…then I will restore you [to a state of inner peace] so that you may stand before Me [as My obedient representative]…”
Here’s what’s hidden in plain sight:
God doesn’t say He’ll restore your situation.
He says He’ll restore you.
He’s after your inner peace, not just your outer problem.
Because when you’re restored in spirit, you can stand before Him.
Not as someone scrambling to prove yourself, but as His representative—one whose alignment gives weight to your voice. And beloved, that voice is not just for decoration. It’s for proclamation.
But wait—there’s more.
—
“And if you separate the precious from the worthless [examining yourself and cleansing your heart from unwarranted doubt concerning My faithfulness]…”
Here it is.
This is the crux.
You have to separate it.
Not God.
You.
You have to look within and sift—what is precious and what is worthless? What are you treasuring that needs to be tossed? What lies have been sitting too long at your table? What doubts have you baptized and made roommates?
And look closely: He defines the “worthless” here as unwarranted doubt concerning His faithfulness.
Not every doubt.
But the kind that slanders His name.
The kind that questions if He’ll actually come through.
The kind that forgets every Red Sea He’s already split open just to get you here.
Cleansing your heart means saying:
“I don’t care what it looks like—I trust who You are.”
That’s faith. That’s fire. That’s separation. That’s alignment.
And then comes the commissioning.
—
“You will become My spokesman.”
Not when you have all the answers.
Not when your life is perfect.
Not when you finally feel qualified.
But when your heart is clean.
When you stop agreeing with lies.
When you start calling Him faithful even before the breakthrough comes.
Then He says, “Now—speak for Me.”
And there’s more…
—
“Let the people turn to you [and learn to value My values]—but you, you must not turn to them [with regard for their idolatry and wickedness].”
You can’t walk with God and follow the world.
You can’t be a mouthpiece for heaven while echoing the culture.
And here’s the beautiful, sobering tension:
He says, let them turn to you.
Let your life be a compass. Let your presence be conviction.
Let your words be a mirror that calls them home.
But don’t turn to them.
Don’t adjust your standard.
Don’t bend your boundaries.
Don’t dim your fire.
Not because you’re better.
But because you’ve been feasting on a different table.
And what fills you… sets you apart.
—
Final Thought
This is what’s hidden in plain sight:
The path to becoming God’s mouthpiece isn’t about power or eloquence—it’s about repentance, discernment, and separation.
It’s about feeding your spirit until your flesh no longer leads.
It’s about coming to the table—not to nibble, but to feast—until truth rewrites your thinking and peace becomes your baseline.
You don’t need to strive for it.
He already prepared the table.
So eat.
Separate.
Speak.
Because in this very hour, the world needs the sound of the ones who have feasted well.
And their words? They won’t be empty.
They’ll be fire.
They’ll be truth.
They’ll be heaven’s own echo.
And you—you were made to carry that sound.
———
I Hear the Spirit Say…
“Come feast, beloved.
Feast not with your lips alone but with your whole being. For I have spread a table—not of crumbs, but of covenant. Not of mere knowledge, but of knowing. Come and eat what will nourish the spirit man within you, for in My Word is marrow for your bones and fire for your voice.
I see the ache behind your questions.
I see the weariness in your faithfulness.
And yet I call you My representative—not because of your perfection, but because of your proximity.
You who have been sifting—pulling apart what’s precious from what’s worthless—know this: I’ve seen every movement of your heart. Every silent choice. Every surrender no one else applauded. And I say to you, this is what qualifies you to carry My sound.
Let the veil of discouragement be lifted now.
Let the fog of confusion clear.
For I am restoring your inner peace—not the kind the world gives, but the kind that sings in storms and dances through deserts.
I am not vague in My promises, nor careless with My words.
When I call you to separate the worthless, I do so only to make room for the weighty.
When I ask you to repent, I do so not to shame you—but to restore you.
I am calling you back to the table—not to snack, but to feast.
Eat until the truth becomes louder than the fear.
Eat until discernment sharpens your tongue and peace guards your gates.
Eat until you no longer hunger for the approval of others, but for the sound of My footsteps drawing near.
And as you feast, you will become the echo of My heart in the earth.
You will be the compass I use to call others home.
Let them turn to you—but you, daughter… you, son…
do not turn to them.
Do not let compromise dress itself in compassion.
Do not let convenience wear the mask of love.
Your fire is not a liability—it is the mark of your calling.
Your alignment is not rigidity—it is the fragrance of holiness.
Your voice is not for echoing culture—it is for releasing Kingdom.
You are not hidden to Me.
You are hidden in Me.
So speak.
Speak from the overflow of the feast.
Speak what you’ve chewed and swallowed and wept over.
Speak what you’ve wrestled with in the secret place.
Speak the fire—not of anger, but of love refined in the furnace of My nearness.
You were made for this hour.
And I will be the wind behind your words.
I will be the oil in your bones.
I will be the table you return to again and again—until all that is false is emptied out and all that is true remains.
Feast, child.
Then rise.
And carry My sound.”
