New Life in the Hard Places
August 3, 2024 — Carol Brown
My husband and I took a trip to the big island of Hawaii recently. Although we had been many years ago, we were limited on time, so on this trip, we planned to take in all the sights we could within the three-day window we had. First on our list was a tour of Volcanoes National Park, which did not disappoint. These monolithic volcanoes were dormant, but one could imagine the fiery molten lava flowing out of them. There were many steam vents throughout the area, reminding the visitor that one could blow at any time. However, for us, the hard black rock stretching for what seemed like miles was the only indication of the magnitude and power of an eruption of lava that had come before.
It’s hard to believe that life could come from such devastation, but as I observed closely, I could see fledgling plants growing through the cracks in the rock. I began to think about the lesson of that plant and its determination to live, thrive even, in a most unfriendly environment, new things sprouting in the midst of hard places.
When my daughter passed from death to life on an Alabama highway twenty-eight years ago, my life took an unexpected turn. So many of my hopes and dreams died that night. I had visions of her walking down the aisle of our church on her daddy’s arm, beaming with happiness. I was eagerly looking forward to her teaching career, because I knew the potential she had to make a difference in the lives of children in her classroom. I was excited for her to become a mom and raise a family of her own. None of those dreams would come to fulfillment and I wanted to die with them. As the devastation turned into the hardness of disappointment and despair, I couldn’t have dreamed of the new things God had planned.
My heart began to soften a little as I saw God’s loving provision for me in ways I couldn’t deny, things others might call coincidental, but I knew could only come from His hand. A tiny crack was developing in the rock that would only become wider as time progressed. Now, all these years later, He has indeed brought forth new things. Major job changes for my husband and me, a new daughter-in-love, two precious granddaughters, births and adoptions that have enlarged our family, a new church home, retirement life, all these and more are flourishing even though the brutal realities of grief and sadness remain.
While visiting the park we learned of a type of volcanic rock called ‘A‘ā pronounced “ah-ah”. This rock has sharp spines called clinkers, and walking on them requires some good shoes. Even then, a person attempting a hike would be considerably slowed down when encountering this type of lava flow. Traveling down this road of loss, I have often been slowed by the sharp edges of my grief. Every joyful occasion is tinged with reminders of Jackie’s absence. Every milestone reached by her contemporaries is a jab at my heart. However, by God’s grace those emotional detours don’t eliminate my gratitude for the new treasures He has given me in the form of trust in His goodness and sovereignty. Like Job, He has not answered my questions, but He has given me more of Himself, which is infinitely better and more valuable.
The greatest outward sign of new life is the many friendships I’ve made on this journey of child loss and the opportunities that have come my way to reach out to others who are struggling under the weight of fresh sorrow. As a lifelong introvert, God has stretched my heart and increased my empathy, overcoming my fear of entering into the suffering of others. Only He can make that type of change; change borne of walking in the hard places. He has given me fresh eyes to see the beauty from ashes and new ears to hear the cry of the wounded. The hard, unforgiving rock will be a part of the landscape of life until my own Heaven Day, but so will the new things that continue to sprout.
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19
