Beauty from Ashes

“..to comfort all who mourn,

    and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty    instead of ashes..” Isaiah 61:3

Today, February 22, 2023, marks my momma’s first heavenly birthday. Were she still living, she would be 91 years old. And today, while it’s still pretty deep into the winter month, daffodils are breaking out in yellow splendor all over. An early reminder that the promise of springtime, and Easter, are just ahead.

I am also reminded that today is Ash Wednesday—the day that signifies the beginning of the Lenten season where many Christians don their foreheads with crosses made from ashes.

Ashes. Evidence of something of substance that once was but now has been reduced to something so insignificant that it can be blown away by even the slightest of breezes.

Ashes. What is left when something that once burned so bright and hot has since grown cold and useless.

Ashes. What we will return to in the grave.

Ashes. What God promises to make beauty from.

We lost my mom just a little more than three months ago. Some days it seems like years ago but quite often I find myself thinking that she is still here. Out on a run past her assisted living facility, I often will have the strong urge to walk back in there, sign in and wander down the long hallways leading to her memory care unit. Sometimes the pangs are real and the regret creeps in that I was so hyper focused in getting her to meet Jesus that those last few months I really didn’t try to enjoy the moments when she was still with us. With us physically but most of the time locked away inside a brain steadily wasting away and unable to communicate or even recognize us.

But here’s the thing. God doesn’t want us to carry guilt or regret or even sadness. He wants us to live our lives so confident in what He’s still doing that we release control over yesterday’s less than happy memories, tomorrow’s unseen worries and most of all today’s useless regrets. Because He is capable of turning any and all of our stories and experiences around just as He is able to make the daffodils dance weeks before the calendar says they should.

So today I want those of you who maybe are viewing this world through blurred and teary vision to know that I see you out there. Living in what can only feel like the ashes. Broken down, disappointed and maybe overwhelmed with problems that feel way too big to even know where to begin.

I see the social media posts out there too. You know the ones. The “my life is so dang good” declarations that grate hard against the disappointments of our own troubles that leave you wondering if you’re the only person out here who doesn’t live an easy and charmed life or if half of society is just so flipping self-absorbed that they think the rest of the world deep in all its struggles should stand up and give them a “well done” ovation.

But if you hear nothing else I’m saying today, please listen to this.

Yes, life is a struggle, full of loss and heartbreak. And what often feels like one difficult moment after another can crescendo into what feels like you’ll never get to the end of the tunnel, forget about surviving long enough to see the faint glimmer of the light that’s promised there.

And there will be ashes--sometimes a lot of them. Much of what we build, hope for and journey after will inevitably crumble into a pile of unrecognizable soot. Some dreams we take the match to ourselves while other aspirations are dismantled and disposed of by someone else’s blow torch.

But because of the ashes we have a promise. God’s promise of purpose in all of our life struggles is real and unlike the pile of ashes, it won’t scatter away when the winds of change come blowing through.

If this Ash Wednesday or simply this February 22nd on the calendar of yet another year finds you mourning for what has been lost, take heart. For God promises “to comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes…”

The ashes. Exchanged for a beautiful crown. I like to picture my momma celebrating number 91 with her King, wearing a crown that puts to shame last year's sparkly tiara she wore upon her head to celebrate the big 90. And sweet friend who may be reading this wondering if your ashes are one day also going to be exchanged for something beautiful? Don't give up hope. He sees. He cares. And He is forever working beauty from a life that may feel burned down and hopeless but that which still has purpose and much worth. And is promised that one day will be exchanged for a crown.