Ashes are interesting, aren’t they? They’re the result of fire. When something has burned down to almost nothing, there they are–the ashes. Even when the thing that has been burned was intentional (wood, paper, etc), we instinctively know not to play in the ashes. They’re dirty, and they leave their trademark smudge on everything they touch. 

So, we stay away, cover them, or throw them away. We definitely don’t want to sit in them, stew in them, or show them to others. 

But what about when the ashes that surround us are the remnants of our own lives? Pieces we thought would last or would be just as we imagined them; certainly not pieces we meant to burn. Those ashes are different. 

During a recent devotional study, I read about ashes and I’ve been thinking about them ever since. At the end of 2 Kings, the destruction of Jerusalem is described in detail, and the devastation seems so final. There is death, captivity, and burning of the Lord’s temple. Imagine all the ashes left behind. Although rebuilding would come, in those painful moments, I can picture the hopelessness.

The ruins of our own lives can also feel final.

When I consider the beginnings of my testimony, with more than a decade between then and now, I can remember my own ashes. Before really knowing the Lord, I thought my life would work out just how I wanted if I simply made a plan and forged ahead.

This belief came crashing down around me when something I thought I didn’t want became something I deeply desired.

My husband and I have both recognized our journey to becoming parents as one that ultimately led us to Jesus. When we were in the thick of trying, time started to feel cruel, answers were none, and our plans for what the future would be began a slow burn. 

I remember feeling broken. My body wasn’t doing the one big thing it was designed to do. It seemed so easy for others; what was wrong with me? Bitterness ran deep, burning other things in its path. The hard heart I had used to get through life was failing, and unwelcome feelings poured in.

My ash heap started to grow. We kept our pain private for a while, but we found small mercies in sharing it with others eventually. I didn’t know then that this would be the beginning of my future testimony. God knew, and He was priming me for using my voice to share it. His work isn’t meant to be private, even when it involves suffering.

I can remember clearly, before we truly surrendered to God, sitting in the ashes of what I thought my life would be, and mourning something I never even had. I hung onto those ashes for far too long. I held them, covered them, and hoped no one would see the smudges. For a while, I couldn’t imagine handing them over to God; there was no way I could trust Him to know what to do with them. They were mine, like a curse I clung to. But no amount of rearranging my own ashes could make them beautiful.

Then came surrender. I couldn’t hold the ashes any longer. All I had to bring to the Lord was my own brokenness and the rubble of my life. I was so scared to hand them over; I feared judgment and shame. Opening a handful of ashes felt like baring my smudged soul. But I gave them up.

What I got in return wasn’t the dream I desperately clung to. It was Him, and He held me in the waiting. Because even though I would eventually become a mom, and it would in fact be beautiful, there would be waiting. God had work to do in me first, and He doesn’t hurry. I needed to know Him as the good Father who already knew my pain and cared deeply about my desires.

Looking back, I can see the waiting as a gift. It was unwanted and hard, but it led me to draw close to the Source of life itself. It helped me see that my identity is in Him, unshaken by the brokenness I felt. It gave me a new, softer heart, one primed and ready for motherhood.

Sometimes we cling to our ashes because it feels like it’s all we have left of something we lost. But that death grip can squeeze out the life trying to come in. We can so easily forget that death precedes resurrection. Death doesn’t have the final say.

We never want the death. We don’t like the burned remnants; ashes are messy. And if this is where we stop, we’ll miss the sweet hope of resurrection. We can’t hang onto our ashes and expect beauty–only when we surrender them to God can He create something so much better. 

Beauty for ashes. It’s His thing. He promises this, and His promises are true. Bring your ashes and smudged soul to the One who cleans and restores. Open your hands. Surrender. 

“He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted…to give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes.”

Isaiah 61:1-3