Smoke filled the Temple.
Isaiah dropped to his knees. The ground shook beneath him. Dust swirled into the air. And above him—he didn’t see a ceiling anymore. No gold. No carvings. No stone.
There was something else.
Something terrifying and beautiful.
Isaiah covered his face.
He heard voices—but they weren’t human. Creatures with six wings floated above, their faces and feet covered, their wings beating like thunder.
They called to each other:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts.
The whole earth is full of His glory!”
The sound of it cracked the stone.
Isaiah couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the smoke choking him—it was the weight of it all. He felt like everything wrong inside him had just been pulled to the surface.
He whispered, “I’m ruined. I don’t belong here. I’ve spoken unclean things. I’ve lived among unclean people. And I’ve seen the King. I’m going to die.”
He waited for judgment.
But instead—one of the burning creatures flew toward him.
It held a glowing coal in its hand, taken from the altar.
The heat came before it touched him. He wanted to turn away—but didn’t. The coal pressed to his lips.
He didn’t scream.
It hurt—but it also stopped the shaking inside him.
And then came the voice.
Not the creature. Not thunder. Not fire.
It was God.
“Whom shall I send? Who will go for Us?”
Isaiah’s lips still burned. But the shame was gone.
His heart was pounding.
He raised his head and whispered, “Here I am. Send me.”
And the voice grew quiet.
The smoke faded. The wings disappeared. The gold walls returned—dull, ordinary.
Isaiah stood. Alone.
But something in him had changed.
He touched his lips, remembering the fire.
He had come in a broken man.
But now—he had been forgiven.
And he had been called.
Smoke filled the Temple.
Isaiah dropped to his knees. The ground shook beneath him. Dust swirled into the air. And above him—he didn’t see a ceiling anymore. No gold. No carvings. No stone.
There was something else.
Something terrifying and beautiful.
Isaiah covered his face.
He heard voices—but they weren’t human. Creatures with six wings floated above, their faces and feet covered, their wings beating like thunder.
They called to each other:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts.
The whole earth is full of His glory!”
The sound of it cracked the stone.
Isaiah couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the smoke choking him—it was the weight of it all. He felt like everything wrong inside him had just been pulled to the surface.
He whispered, “I’m ruined. I don’t belong here. I’ve spoken unclean things. I’ve lived among unclean people. And I’ve seen the King. I’m going to die.”
He waited for judgment.
But instead—one of the burning creatures flew toward him.
It held a glowing coal in its hand, taken from the altar.
The heat came before it touched him. He wanted to turn away—but didn’t. The coal pressed to his lips.
He didn’t scream.
It hurt—but it also stopped the shaking inside him.
And then came the voice.
Not the creature. Not thunder. Not fire.
It was God.
“Whom shall I send? Who will go for Us?”
Isaiah’s lips still burned. But the shame was gone.
His heart was pounding.
He raised his head and whispered, “Here I am. Send me.”
And the voice grew quiet.
The smoke faded. The wings disappeared. The gold walls returned—dull, ordinary.
Isaiah stood. Alone.
But something in him had changed.
He touched his lips, remembering the fire.
He had come in a broken man.
But now—he had been forgiven.
And he had been called.
