My family was standing in the road with other neighbors, in shock over what had transpired overnight.  A line of violent thunderstorms had passed through town and lightening had struck an electrical box on one neighbor’s lawn.  The box had blown completely apart, but the electrical charge had more damage to do.  Traveling up the wires into the house, it sparked a fire inside. The fire burned, undetected, until flames engulfed the entire structure.  The owners weren’t home, so by the time neighbors noticed the fire and dialed 911 in the morning, the house was a total loss.

Standing in the road and staring at the foundation of the house was sobering.  But I was particularly struck by what I saw on the ground.  The water the firefighters had poured into the house was running out onto the street, carrying with it all that was left of the home.  I looked down at streams of black still running past my feet and thought, “There’s nothing left but ashes.”

And that’s when the flashbacks began.

-The hours spent on the phone grieving with a family member whose spouse had been found hiding an affair.  The empty living room, barren but for the carpet, after all the assets had been divided.

Ashes.

-The day I helped a dear friend clear out her house after her husband had left her and their five children for someone else.  The framed family tree, still to be completed, given to them on their wedding day, now tossed into the trash.

Ashes.

-The morning that the update came from Texas announcing that a former colleague and mother of a precious and precocious five year old boy had lost her battle with cancer.  A picture posted of her son posing with his father on his first day of kindergarten, both smiling bravely for the camera.

Ashes.

-A friend grieving the loss of her newborn daughter.  All the hopes and expectations for her future swaddled in that tiny, lifeless form.

Ashes.

So much sadness.  So much pain. So much devastation.

Ashes.

I stared silently at the house destroyed, thinking it a visual representation of what is often the reality behind the perfectly painted front doors of homes that, from the outside, are still seemingly intact.  Just like the smoldering fire that burned, undetected, on the inside of that house until the entire home was engulfed in flames, the fires that burn in our lives often remain hidden until so much devastation occurs that there’s nothing left but ashes.

Sometimes it feels like everywhere I look, all I see are ashes.  That’s what came rushing to my mind as I looked at the charcoal under my feet.

Ashes.

What do you do when there’s nothing left but ashes?

There’s no simple answer for that.  There’s no quick and easy fix.  Even more than a month out from the fire, that house in my neighborhood is surrounded by a fence, condemned, and showing no signs of life.  There’s no construction going on; nothing to indicate that it will ultimately be restored.

But I know that it will.  It’s just going to take time.

In the meantime, the homeowners are still in shock.  They are still grieving what was lost.  They are living an uprooted life – a life interrupted, as Priscilla Shirer would say in her study on Jonah.  They are trying to figure out how to deal with each day as it comes while thrown so mercilessly out of the life that they’d so happily known.  And they are beginning the painstaking process of planning for the future.  Because there will be a future.  It’s just that the rebuilding of it won’t just happen.  It has to be chosen, it has to be planned for, and it has to be walked into.  But I am pretty certain that a year from now, when I walk my dog past that lot, there will be a new house standing on it.  It won’t have the same photos or furniture in it…some things will never be replaced.  But it will house a family.  And it will again be buzzing with life.

A few days after that fire, I travelled with my family to Yellowstone, where God reminded me that he is a God of life.  He didn’t reveal to me on that trip some of the hard “why’s” of the world – why does he allow the sadness and pain and devastation to happen in the first place?  He simply showed me the resilience that he has programmed into the DNA of his creation.  He showed me that out of the ashes, there’s always a pathway back to life.

He showed it to me at Mammoth Hot Springs, where a tiny yellow flower and a small green bush pushed their way out of the noxious ashes built up around pools of boiling acid.

He showed it to me in a forest devastated by fire where baby evergreens dotted the charred landscape.

Yes, there were still signs of the devastation.  But even in the most inhospitable of landscapes, there were also always signs of life.

Life.

It’s hard, when we’re mired in the ashes, to believe that we can again experience life.

That’s what I find so comforting about the Bible, though.  It’s honest and real about the ashes, but it’s always talking about and pointing us to life.  And all of that honesty about reality and promise of life culminates in the love and attention we find in Jesus Christ.

There’s a passage in Isaiah 61 that Jesus refers to in Luke 4.  Jesus reads the words on a scroll and then basically tells the crowd, “This scripture is referring to me. This is who I am.  This is why I’m here.”  It’s a passage that brings life to a heart drowning in ashes and Jesus is telling us that it’s all about him:

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them 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. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. (Isaiah 61:1-3, NIV)

This is the resilience built into God’s creation.  It’s a resilience created by Jesus Christ and it’s a resilience embodied within him.  It’s a resilience he wants to give to us.  He wants to bind up our broken hearts.  He wants to free us from what holds us captive.  He wants to comfort all who mourn and provide for those who grieve. He wants to bestow upon us crowns of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and garments of praise instead of spirits of despair.

He wants to bring us back to life – life as it’s meant to be.  In these words laden with love, compassion, promise and hope, Jesus simultaneously calls out life for what it often is and shows us what it can be if we live it with him. He is our pathway out of the ashes and into the fullness of life.  But we have to choose him.

Are you currently grieving the life you used to have or the one you’d hoped you’d someday live?  Is your heart mired in ashes?  Are you so weighed down by grief that you can’t imagine new life springing up, ever?  Do you carry guilt associated with not “bouncing back” as quickly as you or others think you should?

If you open the Bible and read, you’ll discover that you’re in good company.  Time after time, the writers of the Bible cried out to God in their grief and despair.  There’s no shame in calling out the hardships of life for what they are. And time after time in the pages of the scriptures, we find that whatever we cry out with, God can handle.  In fact, he wants us to pour it all out on him.

He just wants us to choose him.

If you are despairing in your suffering, cry out to Jesus.  Ask him to reveal himself to you as the embodiment of Isaiah 61.  Then seek him.  Find a church nearby. Ask a friend whom you know has a relationship with Jesus.  Send me a message.  Just start somewhere.

It may take time, but you will see Christ’s resilience reflected in you as he brings life out of your ashes – a little yellow flower, a small green bush, or even a mighty oak, planted by the Lord, for the display of his splendor.

 “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that (you) may have life, and have it to the full.”  (John 10:10, NIV)

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30, NIV)

-Jesus