I am standing in the house that’s been in my family for these three decades and some change, in the town that formed my formative years. We’ve traveled here to sell the house, to say goodbye. This will be the last time we will stay here. The last time I will sip coffee while standing at the window, looking out on the neighborhood where my small feet passed daily, where I learned to ride my bike, where I pulled a rusty red wagon and played tag and scraped my knees. The last time I will have something firm and tangible to tie me to the town I called home.
The little house nestled on a quiet, tree-lined street represents so much more to me than real-estate. It’s the last tie to my childhood, the one thing still standing that bears any resemblance to how things used to be. Mine was a tumultuous childhood that ultimately ended in the destruction of our family as a unit. Some families crack and drift apart like icebergs, ours ended more like a dying star…first imploding on itself, then exploding to send far-flung pieces in all directions. Scrubbing the floors and walls of the little house in the sleepy, college town, I find myself picking through shards of memories. Cradling some, crying over others, quietly burying the shattered pieces of the past.
The work finished, we re-pack the car. I walk through each empty room, my footsteps echoing off waxed wood and lath-and-plaster walls. I run my fingers over the window sill one last time, pull the door closed, let my head rest against the cool solidness of the wood for a moment longer. We pull out of the driveway, past the quiet old neighborhoods and I fight a growing emptiness echoing in my own heart. I pray for God to show me how to say goodbye, how to use the pieces of the past to build something better for the future.
The answer comes not far down the road, as we drive through Yellowstone National Park. We pass through an area that burned in a terrible forest fire the year I was sixteen, the year before my family went supernova. “What happened here?’ gasps my youngest daughter as we pass through mile after mile of burned trees, their bleached shells pointing heavenward like boney fingers. I tell of that summer, the thick smoke that blew over us and the red glow that radiated on the horizon each night. I tell of beautiful sunsets brought on by a holocaust, the sky that burned red-gold-crimson along with the forest.
It was then that she said it. “It’s so amazing, Mommy!” I start to agree, amazing that so much devastation could occur in so short a time…but that’s not what she meant. “No, Mommy…it’s amazing that so much has grown already! Look at all the new trees, and so many different kinds!” And I look. There, under the skeleton of the old forest, grows a new and different forest. A better forest. The forest that God had planned, the one that required the destruction of the original woods in order to seed the new with better, stronger roots.
It is there, in the car, surrounded by the beauty of a young forest growing from the ruins of the old, that I make a promise. I tell God I will try, when the emptiness seems too painful, to sit still and listen for the growing of seeds, for the new thing He is making with the ashes of the old.
By Erica Hale, These Three Remain
Leave a Comment
Marilyn from AsGoodaDayasAny says
Oh, I wanted to put my arms around you.
The real meaning of faith is known in these moments, in the hard-trying to keep eyes open, believing green will appear pushing up from ashes. Thank you for sharing this.
Lissa says
This is a beautiful post. One of the most difficlt journeys is discovering how God will use our past. It’s full of surrender and shame and uncertainty. But the unveiling of His plan is so worth it. My favorite thing is watching as He not only picks up the pieces of a broken past, but puts them together to form something more amazing than we ever could have imagined. Thanks for sharing!
Keri says
Erica~ Your words are beautiful, and your story so similar to mine. Thank you! I needed this reminder. Today I’ll be looking for new growth!
Britt says
I think these words were written just for me! Just last night, as I lay in my husbands lap sobbing, I wondered if anything could ever grow out of my destroyed life. Our daughter was stillborn in March and we still do not have any answers and it feels so scary to try again (she was the third baby we have lost) without an answer or reason why, but your message spoke to me. Sometimes we have to be broken (and destroyed) for God to grow new life. Thank you!
Erica Hale says
@Marilyn, oh, thank you for the hug! Those green shoots are a treasure and a joy, aren’t they!
@Lissa, so true! Surrender is not my strong point but I’m learning how He meets me there. And you are so right, He knows how to use those broken pieces to create something much better than we could imagine!
@Keri, praying for that new growth!
@Britt….sweet sister, my heart just hurts for your loss. It’s so hard not to know the “why” of things. I have a friend at church who is going through the same thing…she is in her 4th month after 3 late losses. I will lift you and your husband up in prayer each day as I pray for her, too. May God heal your broken heart and bless you with treasure beyond your fondest hopes.
BarbE says
TY, beautifully written, full of HOPE! Just what I needed today
Kat says
My dad owned his house since 1960. We all grew up there. When went to college and later I married and moved cross country, I always knew I could go back home. My dad has alzhiemer’s. This summer he had to move to assisted living. My sister and her family have the house now. When I went back this summer I didn’t anticipate how much it would change how the house felt with dad somewhere else. Was difficult to adjust. This entry has allowed me to gain some perspective. I need to make my home the type of home my children will look forward to returning from college and bringing their future families to visit. I need to make “home” here.
Wanda says
Thank you for such a touching piece. I still have tears running down my face. I am in a situation where all I can see is the ashes of my life. The last line you wrote is so perfect for where I am right now. I am clinging to the hope that God is making something new with the ashes of the old. Thank you for sharing your pain. I pray that God will send healing to you and all of those who are hurting so deeply.
Holley Gerth says
Wow, Erica…you stretched out your words and invited us into a place where the ordinary and divine intersect. Your story is full of grace, hope, beautiful raw redemption. Thank you!
laura says
Oh, Erica–you absolutely made me cry. You write my heart here, my past…and give me something to hold on to for the future. Thank you.
Erica Hale says
@BarbE and @Holley….*blush* thank you both for your sweet words!
@Kat…(((hugs))) to you! You are so right. That’s what is important now…to make a home that our children and grandchildren will come back to, wherever that might be! It has taken me a long time, but I realize that wherever we are all together is home. My kids have done a lot towards helping me learn that!
@Wanda…Praying for you as you wait to see that new growth. God is so good at using all the threads of our lives to weave something beautiful, even the strands that look ugly by themselves. I pray that God will give you comfort and a sense of peace that surpasses understanding.
@Laura…I’ve long enjoyed reading your blog for the same reasons!
KDL says
I grew up in Montana, too, and I remember that fire, and I remember seeing the new growth and being amazed. There are some trees that are actually designed to not release new seeds until they have passed through a fire. (At least that’s what a Forest Service Ranger told me years later in a different fire area.) It is so good to know that God can use our trials to make us fruitful, too.
Jeri @godsdreamsforme says
Oh my gosh, the new thing out of the old ashes – so beautiful.
It’s so very cool how your daughter noticed the new trees growing. I can just see it.
Michelle DeRusha says
Erica, this is so very beautiful. And a really, really good message for me right now, in the process of grieving. Out of ashes comes hope and beauty, yes. Thank you.
Erica Hale says
@KDL….I love to meet a fellow Montanan! I love that about the seeds, such a reminder that God has plans for ALL things and uses ALL things to good. Yes, and I love how you put it…to use our trials to make us fruitful!
@Jeri…Thank you!
@Michelle… Prayers for you, that you would feel God’s healing hand on you today.
deb says
Erica,
sorry I missed this..
this just makes me ache and yet feel comforted too in a way.
I read on your blog how you have such gratitude for the love your father lived for you and what a difference that made.
You share your story with such grace .
I hope I continue to live love for my children and to remember that good does come from the ashes of our past.