Walking through the burn scar of a recent forest fire in the mountains of Colorado is an eerie thing. It sort of feels like a ghost town, abandoned and barren. Charred remnants of trees lay blackened and oddly shaped all around. I felt overwhelmed by sadness to see all the once proud trees cut down to just burnt sticks. And then, as He always does, God lifted my hanging head to show me the beauty. Beauty from ashes.
I suddenly saw the fantastic beauty of the flowers, especially the one called fireweed which grows abundantly after a fire. Apparently the fireweed is the first plant to grow after a forest fire burns through. The grass that was popping up through the ash was bright green, and gave a colorful contrast and spoke of hope for a new future. None of the beauty minimized the pain of the fire, but it seemed to give it new meaning—calling it forward to new growth.
I talk to so many people who have had a forest fire in their lives, and some have had a few. They feel like their whole worlds lay blackened and reduced to ash. Sometimes they lit the match that started the fire, and other times it was someone else. Regardless of who started the blaze, they now stand in the middle of what seems like a hopeless burn scar.
I know hope seems audacious in that moment. But hope is what will call you forward, allowing you to see the beautiful flowers and grass start to blossom and grow in the ashes of whatever your fire looks like. So often, though, we won’t acknowledge it. We want to keep focusing on the remnants of the pain. I’m not minimizing the suffering at all, but I am also saying that there is hope.
God’s hope is always beauty from ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, a fountain of praise for the spirit of heaviness. He offers good news. He offers freedom from the past, present and future. He offers love that will not let you go. He proclaims a new way—not defined by the pain of the past, but blossoming in new beauty and new life.
What do you have to do for this hope? Ask for it. Nothing earned or deserved, but rather simply accepted. Sometimes we don’t want to accept the beauty for ashes. We just want to stare at the charred remains of our lives, obsessing on the pain. I know those days well. We listen to the voices that tell us it’s all pointless and believe them. Meanwhile, the flowers insist on poking their heads above the ashes, calling us to look at their display and receive the beauty. And God’s hope does the same.
Fireweed reminds me that all is not lost after the forest fires in our lives. Yes, there is loss and pain, but there is also hope. Hope for God to bring beauty from ashes as He promises. Hope for new life.
The mighty Spirit of Lord Yahweh is wrapped around me because Yahweh has anointed me, as a messenger to preach good news to the poor. He sent me to heal the wounds of the brokenhearted, to tell captives, “You are free,” and to tell prisoners, “Be free from your darkness.” I am sent to announce a new season of Yahweh’s grace and a time of God’s recompense on his enemies, to comfort all who are in sorrow, to strengthen those crushed by despair who mourn in Zion—to give them a beautiful bouquet in the place of ashes, the oil of bliss instead of tears, and the mantle of joyous praise instead of the spirit of heaviness. Because of this, they will be known as Mighty Oaks of Righteousness, planted by Yahweh as a living display of his glory. Isaiah 61:1-3