Rise again from ashes, to create ourselves anew. If all our world is ashes then must our lives be true - an offering of ashes . . . is all I have to offer. The words of the song rang through those who had gathered. The fires had raged, quenched only by flooding rain. The world sat for some as a muddy ash mess with nothing but burnt death. How could life rise from this . . . Home, memories, meaning razed in the ravenous plumes of indiscriminate flames. |
The ash cross upon my forehead. Days of heart ache with broken relationship, with disdain and contempt marking life's moments. Where was hope, where was care and valuing of each other, daring to listen beyond the words?
Rise again from ashes. Be created anew. Not my work, but the quiet long gentle work of divine love. Hope, joy, love held and unbounded. Rising from the ashes of life . . . .