The Broadcast From Aleppo

In December 2016, as Syrian government forces closed in on eastern Aleppo, a young journalist named Lina Shamy recorded a final video message. With dust in her hair and tears on her face, she looked into her phone camera and said, "This may be my last video." For months, she had been the voice reaching the outside world from inside that besieged city — reporting not propaganda, but truth. When a ceasefire was finally brokered and evacuation buses rolled through the shattered streets, Lina was among the first to broadcast the news. Residents who had lived under bombardment for years poured into the streets. They wept. They embraced strangers. Some fell to their knees. The messenger's voice, crackling through phone speakers and shared across social media, carried more weight than any government decree. She was not the one who negotiated the ceasefire. She did not drive the buses. But her beautiful feet — her willingness to stand in the rubble and speak — made the good news real to people who had almost stopped hoping.

Isaiah saw this moment centuries before Aleppo existed. The watchmen on Zion's broken walls would see the Lord Himself returning, and the messenger's cry — "Your God reigns!" — would split the silence of exile like daylight through a cellar door. The Almighty does not merely rescue His people. He makes sure someone is there to announce it, because good news requires a voice, and every voice that carries it has beautiful feet.