Garment of Praise: Exchanging pain for joy

“To console those who mourn in Zion,

To give them beauty for ashes,

The oil of joy for mourning,

The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;

That they may be called trees of righteousness,

The planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”

—Isaiah 61:3

I was barely a teenager when I got the opportunity to join the church choir. The director, Miss Moreland, was my neighbor. She drove my two sisters and me to and from choir practice each week leading up to Christmas. We were preparing to sing for midnight mass. I had never even stayed up late enough to attend midnight mass, let alone sing for it. What a privilege!

Our practices were held in the choir loft. I remember climbing those creaky stairs for the first time. I found myself rising higher and higher until the wooden rafters surrounded me, as the loft was situated in the ridge of the roof, its sloping walls on either side. I remember finding a seat on a bench next to my school friend Rocky and being in awe as I peered over the rail at the rows of pews below, which seemed so small from my new vantage point.

Cut It Out: How can we walk out God’s good plans when our foot is caught in a web of destruction?

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.

—John 15:1-2

“Oh, no!” I gasped when I caught sight of my beloved lilac bush covered with webs. “The webworms are taking over,” I groaned. Already they had consumed my black walnut tree and another at the edge of the pasture. Why did they have to choose my lilac to chew on next?

Lilacs are special to me, a sweet reminder of my loving grandmother, who shared my childhood home. Her lilac bush graced the corner of our screened back porch and bloomed just once a year, in April, her birth month. I can still see the lavender-colored cuttings arranged in a Mason jar in the center of the kitchen table. The fragrant aroma filled the room like the presence of Grandmama's gentle spirit.

Now the insects had draped their deadly cloaks over my lilac bush, covering it from top to bottom, killing every green leaf and causing sadness to drape over me at the mere thought of my lilac never returning.

Was there anything I could do? The niggling thought plagued me each time I rounded the corner of my house. Nah, it’s hopeless, I returned.