Beauty from Ashes

We don't usually notice how fragile life is until something important is taken from us. Loss has a way of stripping e-v-e-r-y-thing down—not just what's gone, but what we thought was stable. It can leave you standing in a place you never imagined, asking God how anything good could possibly grow from here. Beauty from ashes sounds poetic until you've actually stood in the ashes.

In college, my husband lost his dad to cancer. And in the months that followed, it felt like everything else unraveled too. His family fractured. His mom had an affair while his dad was dying and walked way from her family. His childhood home was taken by the bank. His car was gone. His phone was cut-off. If it weren't for his college dorm, he would have been homeless. That kind of loss at 18 years old isn't just sad—it's destabilizing. It's the kind that forces you to grow up too fast. To survive. To learn how to keep going when life no longer looks safe or predictable. Essentially he was grieving both his parents—one to cancer, and one who chose to walk away. Grief wasn't something he experienced quietly in the background, it shaped this entire season of life. There was anger. There was hurt. There was fear. There was emptyness. Every negative emotion you could image, I watched him go through it. That is what standing in the ashes looks like. Yet, somehow that season didn't harden him. It didn't steal his sense of humor or his capacity for joy. God met him there—not by instantly fixing everything (it took months... years... his entire college life was marked by loss), but by sustaining him through it. Step by step. Season by season. Slowly rebuilding what had been stripped away.

Years later, during one of our moves, Hunter carefully packed his dad’s ashes (mind you, they're sealed in a box) and placed them in the trunk. When we arrived and opened the trunk, the box tipped over and started rolling down the road. Hunter looked at it, paused, then turned to me and said, “well… there goes my dad.” We laughed, hard. And we still laugh about it today. One of those moments that probably doesn’t sound funny on paper, but if you were there, you’d understand. That moment has stayed with me (and him). Not because it was a lack of respect, but because it showed he was healed. Ashes no longer held power over him. Loss didn't get the final word. Somewhere along the way God had done what only He can do—He redeemed devastation into something lighter, freer, and full of life again.

Isaiah 61:3 tells us "He will give a crown of beauty for ashes." Not by erasing the fire, but by rebuilding after it. God didn't minimize my husband's pain, He met him in it. And over time, He restored more than what was lost. He rebuilt identity. Stability. Joy. Purpose. even in the ashes, Hunter graduated college with honors. He stepped straight into a career with Special Olympics, where he served for seven years. And now, I believe he's finding his rhythm and confidence in his next chapter. It would have been easier to stay buried in the ashes (and there were times I was ready to join him there), but God had other plans.

Looking back and having a front row seat to that time in my husband's life I learned that beauty from ashes doesn't mean the loss didn't matter. It means God mattered more. If you're in a season where things have fallen apart—where grief, disappointment, or change has left you standing in what feels like the ruins, don't rush the process. Ashes are not proof that God has failed you, he never will. Ashes are the soil He uses to grow something new. God doesn't waste loss. He redeems it.

SHE Walks in Faith

If you’re carrying ashes today—visible or unseen—bring them to God without rushing the healing. You don’t need to see the beauty yet. You just need to trust that He is still at work. Your story isn’t over. And what feels like devastation now may one day be the very place you see God’s faithfulness most clearly.

• Maybe you’re standing in the ashes of a relationship that didn’t survive the season.

• Maybe it’s a job you poured yourself into that ended unexpectedly.

• Maybe you’re grieving someone you thought would be here longer.

• Or you’re mourning a version of your life (or yourself) that no longer exists.

Maybe your ashes look quieter.

• Like unanswered prayers.

• A long waiting season.

• A diagnosis you didn’t see coming.

• A dream that had to be laid down without explanation.

Wherever you are, remember this... ashes are not the end of your story. They are not proof that God has failed you. They are often the place where He begins to rebuild... gently, patiently, and with purpose.

Keep walking. Even when the ground feels fragile beneath your feet. God is still writing beauty from this place.

🩷 Prayer

God, You see the ashes I carry—the losses that changed me and the grief I still hold. Help me trust that You are not finished, even here. Redeem what feels broken. Restore what feels lost. And remind me that beauty can still rise from this place. Amen.