Tag Archives: sufferings

Beyond the Rubble: Embracing Hope and Healing

“To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
that they might be called trees of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.” Isaiah 61:3

How do you find beauty in difficult times?

My devotion today is found in Isaiah 61:3. This passage of scripture brings me comfort. Yet, I wondered…

How can there be a smidgen of beauty among the rubble? Wreckage? Or ashes?

How is this even possible?

How do we see beauty amid suffering, hopelessness, or despair?

When I saw my baby sister lying in her small white coffin, I sure didn’t see any beauty in that.

As a child, I noticed my mama with bruises on her body. I failed to see them as beauty marks.

My former husband was known for his strength, vigor, and sure-footedness. After one drink of alcohol, he morphed into a sloppy drunk, miles away from anything charming.

To watch my grandpa become a prisoner in his own body was disheartening. His barrel-chested physique became sunken and scrawny. It was a far cry from what I considered alluring.

My grandma was once so robust and plump. When my eyes caressed her features, I saw her turning thin and frail due to illness. It wasn’t lovely to behold.

The day I saw my former husband turn his back on me was not a picturesque scene. He had pulled the rug from under my feet. He left me in the dust while I choked in my sobs and called out his name in vain.

My tiny 29-day-old granddaughter, swollen from fluids in a medically induced coma after her open-heart surgery, wasn’t eye-appealing.

Recently, saying goodbye to Mama was anything but a pleasant and beautiful moment.

Scars tell a story, but they are not beautiful. Neither are the hidden bruises on the body nor the scab on the heart.

Death is not cute; the grieving of loved ones taken from you is never delightful. Hunger is not charming. Loneliness is not attractive.

Repossession isn’t grand. Foreclosure is far from good.

So, how can there be beauty for ashes?

I believe it is found in hope. Hope against hope. Hope that the imperfect will become perfect. Hope that the pain will cease. Hope that there will be a day of reckoning. Hope that the scattered pieces will rebuild. Hope for healing and relief. Hope that the light will dawn and a new day will come. Hope that this too shall come to pass. Hope in heaven. Hope that the best is yet to come. And most importantly, we believe in the Blessed Hope. One day, we shall see our loved ones again who have crossed over.

I can now yell it from the mountaintop. Thank you, Lord! You have turned my life’s ugliness into a thing of beauty!

Out of sadness and hurt will come strength and victory.

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Filed under Devotional, Faith and Spirituality, Reflections From the Heart

Beauty For Ashes

Beauty For Ashes

“To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.”
Isaiah 61:3
(Photo Credit: forashes.org)

Today’s devotion is based on Isaiah 61:3. While this passage brings me comfort, it also raises a question I often wrestle with:

How can there be even a smidgen of beauty in the midst of rubble? In ashes? How is that even possible?

These questions don’t come lightly. They rise from places in my life marked by grief, loss, and deep sorrow, moments where beauty felt completely absent.

I remember seeing my baby sister lying in her small white coffin. And in that moment, beauty was the furthest thing from my mind.

When I noticed my mama with bruises on her body, I couldn’t see anything beautiful in that.

The man I once knew for his strength and steady footing slowly became someone unrecognizable, reduced to a sloppy drunk after just one drink; nothing was charming about that.

Watching my grandpa become a prisoner in his own body, his once strong, barrel-chested frame turning frail and sunken, didn’t resemble anything I would call beautiful.

And my grandma—once so full and vibrant—grew thin and weak from illness. That, too, was hard to look at.

I can still see the back of my former husband as he walked away, leaving me behind in a heap of sobs, calling out his name. There was nothing picturesque about that moment.

My tiny 29-day-old granddaughter, swollen from fluids and lying in a medically induced coma after open-heart surgery—that wasn’t something my eyes could call beautiful.

Scars are not beautiful. Neither are hidden bruises, whether on the body or the heart.

Death is never beautiful, and the grief that follows is a weight no one should have to carry. Hunger isn’t beautiful. Loneliness isn’t beautiful.

Repossession isn’t quaint. Foreclosure is far from delightful.

So how can there be beauty for ashes?

It doesn’t come by erasing the ashes. It rises from them.

This kind of beauty doesn’t pretend the pain never happened. It doesn’t gloss over the heartbreak or tidy it up into something neat. Instead, it grows out of the very places that tried to break us. It’s a quiet, resilient kind of beauty, one that allows the hurt to be woven into something greater.

For me, that beauty is found in hope.

Hope when everything feels hopeless.
Hope that what is broken will one day be made whole.
Hope that the pain will not last forever.
Hope that justice will come.
Hope that scattered pieces can be gathered and rebuilt.
Hope for healing, for relief, for restoration.
Hope that light will break through the darkness and a new day will come.
Hope that this, too, shall pass.

Hope in heaven.

And most of all, hope in the promise that one day, we will see again the loved ones we’ve had to let go.

So today, I can say it with confidence, maybe even shout it from the mountaintop:

Thank You, Lord, for turning the ugliness in my life into something beautiful.

 

 

Out of sadness and hurt, will come strength and victory.

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July 23, 2015 · 10:39 PM