Beauty from Ashes

I’ve said it so many times, but I never truly sat with it until now.

I’ve said those words like a comfort blanket.

Beauty from ashes.

They’ve made their way into my prayers, tucked themselves inside the pages of my journal, and rolled off my tongue when I didn’t know what else to say. I’ve offered them to others as hope, and I’ve held them close in quiet moments when I was trying to believe them for myself.

But recently, I slowed down. I didn’t just say the words. I sat with them. I let them settle deep in my chest, and I asked what they really mean.

Because beauty from ashes sounds poetic. But ashes? Ashes mean something burned.

Ashes mean something was lost. Something sacred. Something you didn’t think you could lose. They mean there was pain. There was fire. There was a chapter you didn’t want to end. And now, you’re left staring at the remains, wondering what could possibly grow from here.

And yet, God still speaks.

He doesn’t ask us to sweep the ashes away. He doesn’t demand a smile or a strong face. He comes close. He kneels beside us in the ruin, in the mess, in the quiet grief, and He begins the slow, sacred work of restoration.

He doesn’t work around the ashes. He works through them.

Lovely, that’s what undoes me. That the beauty God brings doesn’t skip over the pain. It doesn’t erase it. It honors it. It holds it gently and begins to grow something soft and steady right there in the middle of the wreckage.

Sometimes beauty comes as peace in your chest after months of restlessness. Sometimes it’s the first laugh after a long silence. Sometimes it’s a prayer you didn’t think you’d ever pray again. Or a moment when you realize you’re still here, still breathing, still trying. And that counts too.

Sometimes the beauty isn’t loud or obvious. It’s the tenderness that grows in you. The deeper compassion. The slower pace. The way your heart knows how to sit with others in their pain, because you’ve lived through your own.

Isaiah 61:3 says that God gives “a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

He gives.

We don’t have to earn it. We don’t have to clean ourselves up to receive it. He meets us in the exact place where we feel ruined and forgotten, and He begins to restore.

So if you find yourself sitting in the middle of something broken, if you’re holding the weight of all that didn’t go the way you hoped it would, I want you to know this isn’t the end of your story.

You don’t need to have a plan. You don’t need to have hope figured out yet. Just let it come slowly. Let it be gentle. Let God do what only He can do.

Let Him stay with you. Let Him gather what’s left. Let Him begin again.

One day, without even realizing it, you’ll look around and see something new rising. Something rooted. Something strong. Something beautiful.

Not because the fire didn’t happen.

But because God never stopped working.

Even in the ashes.

Love, Sarah xx.

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