This past week, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting—mostly looking back over the last year or so. I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened, the good and the bad, and noticing God’s hand in all of it.

In just a couple of weeks, I’ll begin classes for my master’s degree program. Saying that out loud still feels surreal. I never in a million years thought I’d be working toward a master’s. But again, that’s God—His hand guiding me into a new season.

I’ve been learning a lot about myself and about God lately, and honestly? I haven’t liked it much. (Just ask my coworkers or the girls at Bible study!) This new season has been all about growth, and growth is uncomfortable. For a while, I tried to ignore it. But it seemed like every sermon I heard was about growing—growing in our faith, growing into our promise.

One Sunday, I even visited a different church just to visit a couple I love —and wouldn’t you know it, the sermon was about the pressure of the promise. I finally told God, “Okay… I get it now.” But the fact that He’s still telling me the same thing probably means I don’t get it quite like I think I do.

Yesterday, it finally started to click. This season of growth has been so difficult because I’m still trying to cling to what I know. Obvious, right? But then I came across a quote on Pinterest that hit me like a brick. I won’t get it exactly right, but it said something like:

“The reason why you’re struggling to heal from trauma is because you’re trying to be the person you were before. But that person doesn’t exist anymore. A new person is trying to be born.”

That stuck with me all day. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Then, God dropped a little nugget into my heart.

I was reminded of Isaiah 61:3:
“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.”

God showed me something simple but profound: when paper—or anything—is burned, it becomes ash. But ash cannot be restored to its former state. When we go through the fire—whether it’s because of our own choices or because of harm others have done to us—we become ash.

And no matter how hard we try, we can’t go back to who we were before.

But God.

God takes our ashes and creates something new. Something beautiful. And when He does, we get to tell others how our chaos, our pain, and our mess turned into something redemptive.

That’s beauty from ashes.
That’s redemption.