Ashes Into Dawn
Ashes Into Dawn
Entry for the "Sing Us the Song of the Century" Challenge
By []
The night my mother passed, the sky outside my window looked unusually calm — as if it knew something I didn’t. I had spent the evening reading Psalm 30, clinging to the promise: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”
But that night, joy felt so far away.
She had been in the hospital for weeks. The doctors had given up hope, but I hadn’t. I fasted. I prayed. I begged. I believed. It was my last weapon, and I wielded it with everything I had.
At 2:11 a.m., my phone rang. My hands trembled even before I picked it up.
“She’s gone,” my sister whispered.
The silence afterward wasn’t quiet. It roared in my ears. It swallowed the air. I fell to my knees, not from sorrow — not yet — but from something heavier than grief: a strange peace.
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That morning, I walked down to the river near our house. It was still dark. No one else was there. I sat on the cold bench, my hands clenched tight, unsure whether I was angry, numb, or just empty.
Then, I saw it.
Across the water, the sky broke open — one thin blade of light cutting through the black. The sun was rising, slowly but surely. For the first time in hours, I breathed.
And I heard it — not audibly, but clearly.
“From ashes, I bring the dawn.”
I closed my eyes and wept, but they weren’t tears of despair. They were sacred. Like rain watering something deep inside. I knew then — she was not lost. She had just gone ahead.
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🔗 Inspired by: “Graves Into Gardens” by Elevation Worship
Because only a God like Him can turn mourning into dancing.
