A Light Through the Trees

Ludwig Van Beethoven started losing his hearing when he was 28 years old. It was when he was in 50s and completely deaf that he wrote one of his most well known and famous pieces, “Ode to Joy.” Ernest Hemingway lived trapped in a life of anxiety and alcoholism. And yet despite it all, he wrote the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, “The Old Man and the Sea.” And then there’s Michelangelo, who despite his battle with depression and anxiety painted “Genesis” on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel.

A few weeks ago, I spent 8 days and 8 nights with Linds, Eva and Phoenix while Dugan was out of town. It was, without a doubt, one of the most exhausting and challenging weeks of my life. On a normal day, there’s ongoing necessary attention given to Eva. Suctioning, using the cough machine, readjusting her, changing her, moving her, regulating her oxygen, administering medication, keeping an eye on the Pulse Oximeter machine to be aware of her heart rate and oxygen levels. But when she has a cold, as she did the week I was there, everything is intensified. And this is all accomplished while, at the same time, playing, reading, laughing and spending important time with Phoenix. 

My normal week includes working at Heartland Church and then spending evenings with Eva; 5 nights a week, each night for a couple of hours. It allows me some alone time with Eva and gives Dugan and Linds a moment to breathe and to give undivided attention to Phoenix. And then I go home. They don’t. They stay and live this current life of trauma. Everyday of their lives. 

Yet, in the midst of this overwhelming life, beauty comes. One evening, during the week I was there, Linds came into the kitchen with her paints, her canvas and her Diet Coke. She was hurrying outside to paint before it got dark. And then she showed me the next day what she had painted. And it was beautiful. Life giving. And moving. She called it “A Light Through the Trees.”

Isaiah 61:3 says this:

To those who have sorrow in Zion I will give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes. I will give them the oil of joy instead of sorrow, and a spirit of praise instead of a spirit of no hope. Then they will be called oaks that are right with God, planted by the Lord, that He may be honored.

Beethoven, Hemingway, Michelangelo, LindsayLetters - all artists who have created their greatest works, not after their pain but IN their pain. 

Which has got me thinking. I don’t think that God chooses just artists to turn ashes into beauty. It’s got to be true for all of us. So what does my beauty look like when I’m covered in ash? I don’t paint. I don’t write novels. I don’t compose music. When I’ve been in ashes, what has my crown of beauty looked like? 

I don’t know the answer to this. I only know that what is true for Beethoven must be true for me. And if it is, I want to know what it looks like AND how to share it. 

The church and the Bible speak of the value and importance of community. Usually I think of it in terms of sharing our lives, having fun, walking and running through life together. But I think there’s something that I’ve overlooked. The beauty of ashes. The stories we tell or show of God’s spirit of hope in the midst of our pain. 

Paul Harvey, an old radio personality, told a story every afternoon for over 30 years. It was called, “The Rest of the Story.” You hung on every word he said in order to get to the name of the person he was talking about. Someone who became an inspiration, a hero, a world changer in spite of or, most likely, because of their difficult lives.

After Eva had been in the hospital for weeks, Dugan spoke at church. This was at a time when there was immense uncertainty as to Eva’s future. To the point where they weren’t even sure she would live.

And yet, in that moment of great pain, Dugan brought a crown of beauty, oil of joy. He talked about three simple statements:

God is present.

God is good.

God is doing something.

And there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Because joy and hope and praise filled that place. 

Isaiah clearly states that God doesn’t leave us in our pain. Everyone has been promised a crown of beauty, oil of joy and a spirit of praise. IN our greatest pain. And it behooves me to discover it, express it and then to share it. Not only for myself, but to spread it to others so they can live in the promise that what is true for Beethoven and me is true for them as well. That if we go after it, we will discover the beauty and the hope and the joy of God in our pain. Soon followed by finding a strength we never knew we had. Standing like oak trees, planted and strong. Giving glory and honor to the one true God.  A God who turns ashes into beauty. Or as Lindsay so beautifully painted, provides “A Light Through the Trees.”