beauty for ashes

Blown away by the wind.

Destroyed by the water.

Burned in the sun.

My hands are gray, full of ashes.

What I thought was worthy... what I thought was precious...

In my hands, powder and dust.

Cupped hands, ashes sift through my fingers.

Because what is worthy

What is precious

are the calluses.

the fine lines from laughter.

the deep wrinkles from the sun.

the blisters on my feet.

muscle's fatigue.

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If God is in the world...

And we are here...

then God is among us.

We are constantly in the presence of God.

And we come in contact with His gifts every day.

-

Yet here we are.

Stockpiling the gold.

Worshipping plastic.

Unaware of how lavishly we have been adorned by His love.

How richly we've been clothed by His grace.

-

So we offer to You, all we think we are worth.

-

But You have stooped low,

to wash our gray, sooty hands.

Making us clean.

-

You bind the wounds inflicted by this world.

Put salve on the blisters we've worn on our skin...

On our heads You have placed a crown.

-

And for our ashes, you have given us beauty.