Sometimes the greatest test for a leader is not speaking for people, but speaking honestly in the presence of a greater power.

After the crowd had fallen into awe and the words, “This is from above,” echoed through the gathering, there was a pause — a sacred stillness, as if the whole scene was waiting to see what would happen next. Then, gently but deliberately, the leader stepped forward.

This was the same person the crowd had originally followed, the one they had come to hear, the figure whose presence had once defined the meeting. But now, something in his posture had changed. He did not step forward to reclaim attention. He stepped forward to respond to what heaven was doing.

He lifted his face toward me and toward the place I was being held in the sky. There was no trace of competition in his expression. No struggle to prove that his power was equal. Instead, there was a deep humility — the humility of someone who knows when a greater hand has taken over the moment.

The people around him instinctively made space. They knew he was about to speak. But even before he opened his mouth, the meaning of his movement was clear: he was positioning himself, not as the center of the story, but as a witness to it.

From above, I watched this with a quiet awareness. I did not feel superior to him. I felt the weight of responsibility growing heavier. If a leader was stepping forward to speak, then his words would help define how the crowd remembered this day.

The sky had lifted me. The crowd had seen it. Now the leader stood between the two — between heaven’s action and the people’s understanding. His next words would not control the revelation, but they would echo inside the hearts of those who heard him.

He took a breath, and the scene shifted toward declaration.