I drove toward Stillwater, the town where my son, daughter-in-love, and grandson live. Just a few weeks ago, fire ravaged the community, reducing seventy-five homes to ash. The night it happened, I felt helpless as my daughter-in-love’s family evacuated, taking shelter in her home. It was a terrifying night. The next day, they returned to their homes, covered in ash and smelling of smoke–grateful to have a home to go back to, yet heartbroken for those who didn’t. I watched from afar, feeling the weight of it all.
The scent of loss and renewal
As I exited the interstate and turned onto the highway toward Stillwater, an unfamiliar scent filled the air–earthy smell, slightly sweet, unlike anything I had smelled before. I glanced around to try to discover what it was that I was smelling. A few miles later, the charred scar on the earth came into view. Blackened tree trunks stood over fresh grass pushing through the scorched soil. Then, the realization fell heavy on me. I knew what I was smelling.
Goosebumps rose on my arms. My heart sank. This was where people had fought the fire, where they had endured fear and loss. I passed miles of burnt land but never saw the ruined homes. Still, I knew they existed beyond my sight–people’s entire lives now reduced to rubble, dug through in hopes of any remnants of the heirlooms, memories, anything left to hold on to.
How can something so horrific have such an earthy, almost sweet scent? How could devastation be so quickly clothed in green new life? My mind wants to rebel against the idea, yet I couldn’t help but recall the verse about being given beauty for ashes.
Creating beauty from ashes
My daughter-in-love’s father creates art for a living. Apparently, ashes create a natural glaze for ceramic pieces, so he offered to create ceramic homes to those who lost their homes–glazed with the very ashes of what once stood. A heart-wrenching act of love, transforming loss into something beautiful, something meaningful to hold on to. In the midst of loss, devastation, and heartache, perhaps that is all any of us can do.
I pulled into town, still breathing in that strange, bittersweet scent, excited to see my loved ones. The contrast unsettled me—destruction and renewal, loss and love intertwined. But maybe that’s the way of things. In the wake of loss, we gather what remains, shape it into something new, and find, somehow, that beauty still rises from the ashes.