It is easy for me to rejoice in beauty. For one, it’s beautiful, and beautiful things are naturally rejoiceful. It’s also when there is more concrete evidence of God’s handiwork, of His love, of His care. The ashes are when praise can be hard to come by. The fire that precedes them, too.
I recall a documentary I watched a couple of years ago. I learned that all forests, regardless of their size, depend on fire in order to thrive. A number of conifers seal their cones with resin, which has to be burned away in order for the seeds to germinate. Thus, out of the ashes of a forest fire, new life begins.
Forest fires are devastating. Fire is destructive, it displaces people, and its fumes bring residual damage. While the trees are burning, no one is thinking about the new life that will eventually burst through the soil as a result of the damage. On the contrary, all are thinking about the danger and the damage, while trying to cope with the shock.
Refining fires are similar. They do destroy, they do bring a sense of displacement through discomfort, and there are residual effects in their wake. I cannot speak for others, but I certainly struggle to consider the new life that will come from the ashes of refinement while undergoing its flame. Instead, I find myself groaning, worrying about what is happening and what the future will look like, and trying to keep my anxiety in check.
It isn’t until I see new life bursting forth that I am reminded of the beauty of the burning. At that moment, I am finally ready to look backward; to reflect on each stage of the prolonged growth of the forest, on its diversified purpose, and on the reason for its burning.