Beauty from Ashes

Earlier this week, after a long day at the office I stopped by my apartment to see how the renovation was progressing.  It was depressing.  The sub-floors were exposed, the appliances were all lined up in the dining area, the brick was hideously sooty and the walls were painted the wrong color.  The place I had called home for nearly five years resembled a shack and smelled of the fire that had displaced me and caused so much trauma and damage 5 weeks earlier.  

As I walked through my home a deep sadness settled over me.  I missed my space.  I missed my neighbors.  I missed my freedom.  Mostly, I missed my life. I exited through the broken patio door, frustrated and teary, wondering when my life would return to normal. The only things that remained from my former life were a few charred plants sitting forlornly on the bare, concrete slab outside. The pots were covered in soot, the once beautiful, flowering plants dead from the fire. Then I took a closer look and discovered a plant growing in one of those pots, blooming with bright red flowers despite the odds.  Even more shocking was the realization that it was NOT the same plant that was there the day of the fire.  It was a plant that had I had killed three years earlier.  

Maybe it's because I'm in a heightened emotional state, but I am more aware than ever of the valuable lessons to be learned from suffering. It's not lost on me that the very week I saw the blooms that I had killed burst through damaged soil with new life, is the same week that commemorates the death and resurrection of Jesus, the one who sacrificed his life for me only to burst through the tomb after three long days.  A beautiful symbol of Easter is blooming on my back porch. Beauty from ashes in a soot-covered pot.  I hope your Easter is full of peace and new life this year!     

The Year of the LORD’s Favor

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

The Tale of the Wooden Spoons

The Gospel of Mark 12:41-44

Jesus sat down near the collection box in the Temple and watched as the crowds dropped in their money. Many rich people put in large amounts. Then a poor widow came and dropped in two small coins.  Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on.”

This story has always moved me.  I've always imagined that this widow looked like my Grandma Jim, sporting a kind, open, softly wrinkled face, twinkling eyes and ready smile as she dropped the last of her money into the collection box, unconcerned for her own wants or needs.  She simply gave all she could, completely unaware that she was being observed by Jesus Christ himself.  But after Friday night she is no longer a widow in my mind.  She has become an 8-year-old girl named Sadie with long, blond hair, sparkling eyes and a radiance born of a deeply compassionate and sensitive heart, all wrapped in a pretty party dress with silky flowers and a bow.

Here is the story of how I met Sadie and why she gave me one of the best gifts I've ever received.  My dear friend Sandy decided to stop by my apartment the day we were cleaning up after the fire. Although she couldn't stay she dropped off snacks for all of the volunteers hauling out pieces of my soot-covered life. Driving off with her granddaughters in the back seat, she explained what had happened and why she was delivering snacks.  After a long silence, the eldest, Sadie, told her that she had some girl scout money that she would like to donate to my neighbor and me, to help us recover from the fire.  After a long discussion spent explaining the depth of the need and what else she could do with the money, Sandy realized that Sadie's pure and compassionate heart could not be denied.  She was DETERMINED to help.  She NEEDED to help.  She DID help.

Sadie became a girl on a mission.  She grew obsessed with helping me, a woman she had never met nor even known existed until that fateful Saturday.  She talked about me and the fire frequently.  She wanted to meet me.  She wanted to meet Zeus.  A few days later Sandy called me and told me about her.  She explained what had transpired in the car after leaving my apartment.  She told me how deeply concerned Sadie was for me.  I choked back tears when I learned that she had offered her own hard-earned money.  I was deeply moved by her merciful nature and realized the same thing her grandmother did.  She could NOT be denied the opportunity to give.  I told Sandy that I did not want her to spend much money but that there were lots of little things I needed like wooden spoons and pantry items and she could bring a small gift to my birthday party where she could meet Zeus and me.

A few days later, Sandy picked up Sadie from school.  Sadie immediately wanted to know if Sandy had called me so Sandy told her about our conversation.  Eventually Sadie went home and that is when Sandy found a note left behind in the back seat:

When Sandy emailed me the photo of that note I sobbed uncontrollably.  Where did this little girl come from?  I still had not met her and already she had pierced my heart with her innocent, sweet spirit.  Here was an 8-year-old child offering all she had and refusing to be denied, and just like the widow I'm sure she was completely unaware that she was being observed by Jesus Christ himself, or that she was mimicking his humility and ultimate sacrifice in the only way she could.  The purity of it was and still is one of the most beautiful things in the world to me now.

Friday night I was privileged to finally meet sweet Sadie at a birthday party in my honor.  She hugged me and listened to the story of my escape from the fire, repeating how bad she felt for me as I talked. She petted Zeus and praised him for being such a good dog.  We talked about how much she loved performing and reading American Girls books.  She played with another friend's 8-year-old daughter and generally floated around the party like a beautiful butterfly, delighting everyone who met her and heard her story.  

Before she left, she wanted to watch me open the gifts she brought. She gave joyfully, genuinely delighted to offer me something I needed.  There was as much joy on her face as there was on mine when I opened the gift and saw a brand new set of wooden spoons. She also gave Zeus a funny thank you card involving a chicken, I'm assuming because he saved my life, and a gift of chicken jerky.  It was all I could do not to break down into an "ugly" cry.  How could I not fall madly in love with this child?  

In this Holy Week, a season of sacrifice and redemption, I see clearly that Sadie loves like Jesus loves; beautifully, sacrificially, mercifully and purely.  I did nothing to earn her favor, and quite frankly I don't deserve it, but I'm certain that I will never be the same because of it. She was DETERMINED to help.  She NEEDED to help.  She DID help. Just. Like. Jesus.