Beauty from Ashes

Chiffon, tulle, and satin spilled from the racks, transforming the room into a thing of beauty with little effort.  This was a place of magic, this bridal store that held within its confines the dress that I would wear when I pledged my life to my forever love.  My hands couldn't help but reach out and touch the gowns that I had spent hours perusing online.  The "perfect" dress was already pulled in anticipation of my arrival and as I stood in the dressing room I drank in the moment, overwhelmed by the magnitude of emotions that coursed through my veins, overcome by the reality of the event, this moment in time of which little girls dream.  The satin skimmed against my skin and I relished the feeling of "my" gown as it hugged my body in  all the right places.

I stepped onto the platform fully expecting to love what I saw yet instead I HATED it.  This dress that adorned my desk in countless pictures was not at all what I was expecting, not at all what I was wanting.  My mom instantly noticed the distress on my face and my sisters ran to pull countless options from the overflowing racks.  Dress after dress was met with disappointment until only two remained.  One a beautiful mermaid flare that fit like a glove, but covered with lace, an option I had never even considered, it didn't seem like me.  The other an A-Line adorned with beautiful scroll work forming a cross on the train and delicate pearl detailing along the bust.  The design I loved, the fit I despised.

Not willing to commit to either I left the salon frustrated, irritated, and saddened by the prospect of being unable to find "the" dress.  My mom felt like it would serve me well to take a step back so we went to a local mall.  My sisters were concerned, none of the joy that should be present on such a day was evident in my demeanor.  When I squealed over the procurement of a denim jacket they all felt the day was lost. 

Pregnancy for me is much like that trip.  It was something I dreamed of, something I prayed for, something I looked forward to with joy and anticipation.  Yet after two miscarriages, one micro-preemie, one full term delivery, the diagnosis of an incompetent cervix, an emergent cerclage, and 14 weeks of bed rest, it is instead a journey riddled with trepidation, anxiety, and fear. A constant awareness that the light at the end of the tunnel just might be a train.

No one prepares you for the "ugly" side of this experience and in truth no one can.  Each road is different requiring first hand travel for knowledge to be gained and wisdom garnered.  No one can explain the depth of hurt that follows the loss of a child or the sea of emotions that accompany seeing your daughter fight for a life full of unknowns.  No one can prepare you for the emotions that come when the bottom falls out once again or foresee the sacrifices required to bring a healthy child into this world.

We headed back to store for one last attempt and were met at the door by their seamstress who was convinced she could combine the fit of the one with the design of the other.  I slipped into the A-Line again and watched skeptically as she pulled and pinned, clipped and folded the gown, shaping it into something new entirely.  After what seemed liked hours she stepped back and told me to look.  I did, and was amazed at the transformation that had taken place.  Something I despised had been turned into a thing of beauty...

 



Our Lord, like the seamstress, is waiting to make something of beauty from situations that to us seem impossible. We are promised in Isaiah 61:3 that the Lord will "...provide for those who grieve...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."  Sometimes we just have to open our eyes.     

Please Lord may mine be open...