This is a wonderful poem. I think it was written by Joyce Meyer in her book Beauty for Ashes
Once I held in my tightly clenched fists, ashes.
Ashes from a burn inflicted upon my six-year-old body.
Ashes I didn’t ask for. The scars were forced on me.
And for twenty-seven years the fires smouldered.
I kept my fist closed in secret, hating those ashes yet unwilling to release them.
Not sure if I should. Not convinced it was worth it.
Marring the things I touched and leaving black marks everywhere, or so it seemed.
I tried to undo it all. But the ashes were always there to remind me that I couldn’t. I really couldn’t. But God could.
His sweet Holy Spirit spoke to my heart one night in tearful desperation.
He whispered, “I want to give you beauty for your ashes. The oil of joy for mourning. And a garment of praise for your spirit of heaviness.”
I had never heard of such a trade as this! Beauty for ashes?
My sadly stained memory for the healing in His Word?
My soot-like dreams for His songs in the night?
My helpless and hurting emotions for His ever-constant peace?
How could I be so stubborn as to refuse an offer such as this?
So willingly, yet in slow motion, and yes while sobbing, I opened my bent fingers and let the ashes drop to the ground.
I heard the wind blow them away, away from me forever.
I am now able to place my open hands gently around the fist of another hurting soul and say with confidence,
“Let them go. There really is beauty beyond your comprehension. Go ahead, trust Him. His beauty for you ashes.”