Ashes That Speak

Scripture: Job 30:19–20 (NIV)

"He throws me into the mud, and I am reduced to dust and ashes. I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer; I stand up, but you merely look at me."   This is Job at his lowest—yet even in the ash, his voice reaches heaven.

Short Story: “The Ember Whisperer”

Mara used to dance. Not professionally, but joyfully—twirling in her kitchen, spinning through worship, laughing like her feet were made of music. But after the loss, the fire inside her dimmed. She didn’t dance anymore. She barely moved.

One evening, she sat by the fireplace, staring at the cold ashes. Her journal lay open beside her, untouched. She whispered, “I don’t even know what to say to You anymore.”

A soft breeze stirred the ashes. One tiny ember glowed faintly beneath the gray. She leaned closer.

Then she heard it—not audibly, but deep in her spirit: "Even ashes speak. I hear you still."

Tears welled up. Not from sorrow, but from recognition. She wasn’t forgotten. Her silence wasn’t empty. Her ache wasn’t wasted.

"The Ember Whisperer"

She picked up her pen and wrote one word: Still.

That night, Mara didn’t dance. But she stood. And that was enough.

Prayer:

God who listens to the quietest cries, when my joy feels buried in ashes, remind me: You still hear me. You still see me. Fan the ember I forgot was there. Let my silence speak, my stillness worship, my brokenness become beauty. I trust You to make something of this dust. And if all I can do is stand—I’ll stand in You.   In Jesus' Name, Amen.