BEAUTY FROM THE ASHES
Episode 6
The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again.
The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence.
Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack.
Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope.
By Thursday, something inside her had shifted.
That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace.
She read from Isaiah 61:3:
“…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…”
The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil.
Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her.
Beauty for ashes.
Joy for mourning.
Praise for heaviness.
She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose.
Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently.
“I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.”
Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.”
Amara looked down, tears pooling again.
“But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.”
“Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.”
A long silence passed between them.
“So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking.
Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.”
That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in.
The next morning, the storm arrived.
Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria?
It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely."
Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight"
Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left.
It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house.
Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained.
Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital.
"Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine?
Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried
"How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate?
She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered.
But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded
And then? Eddy persisted.
To Be Continued
What do you think that happened next?
Find out in the next episode
Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you
Grace Amarachi
#teacherwritersingerlover
#BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience
Episode 6
The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again.
The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence.
Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack.
Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope.
By Thursday, something inside her had shifted.
That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace.
She read from Isaiah 61:3:
“…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…”
The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil.
Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her.
Beauty for ashes.
Joy for mourning.
Praise for heaviness.
She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose.
Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently.
“I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.”
Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.”
Amara looked down, tears pooling again.
“But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.”
“Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.”
A long silence passed between them.
“So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking.
Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.”
That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in.
The next morning, the storm arrived.
Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria?
It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely."
Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight"
Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left.
It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house.
Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained.
Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital.
"Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine?
Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried
"How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate?
She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered.
But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded
And then? Eddy persisted.
To Be Continued
What do you think that happened next?
Find out in the next episode
Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you
Grace Amarachi
#teacherwritersingerlover
#BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience
BEAUTY FROM THE ASHES
Episode 6
The women’s conference stretched across the week like a divine unfolding, each evening a sacred appointment that Amara hadn’t even known her soul had been craving. It wasn’t just a program; it was an invitation. An invitation to heal, to awaken and to breathe again.
The first night had left her in tears. The speaker, a soft-spoken woman with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories, had shared her journey from despair to deliverance. Amara sat quietly in the third row, tears slipping down her cheeks as the words struck something deep, something raw within her. She wasn’t alone. Not in her pain. Not in her confusion. Not even in her silence.
Every session after that peeled back another layer of pain, of pride, of fear. Like an onion shedding its skin, Amara found herself slowly unraveling. The masks she had worn for years...the brave wife, the silent sufferer, the spiritual martyr, began to fall. With every worship session, with every testimony, the walls she had so carefully constructed began to crack.
Each night, she came home lighter. And each morning, she woke with a little more clarity. It was as if her heart was remembering how to feel again, how to hope.
By Thursday, something inside her had shifted.
That night’s message felt like it was delivered straight from the throne room of heaven to her wounded heart. The speaker, a fiery preacher with a voice that could calm storms or rouse an army, stood with authority and grace.
She read from Isaiah 61:3:
“…to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…”
The words echoed through the hall, soaking into the atmosphere like rain on dry soil.
Amara closed her eyes and let them wash over her.
Beauty for ashes.
Joy for mourning.
Praise for heaviness.
She didn’t know when the tears had started, but they came in quiet streams, not of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in a long time, Amara allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, her story wasn’t over. That perhaps God hadn’t abandoned her in the wreckage of her marriage, but had been waiting in the wings for her to find the strength to choose.
Later that evening, Amara sat in Chinwe’s cozy living room, cradling a warm mug of ginger tea. The lights were dim, the air fragrant with the scent of cinnamon and honey. Chinwe sat across from her, legs tucked under her on the couch, listening intently.
“I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for years,” Amara began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was so sure I was doing God’s will by marrying Eddy. Everyone said I was. And when things turned ugly, I thought... maybe this was my cross. Maybe I was supposed to endure it.”
Chinwe reached out and gently took her hand. “Amara,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “God never asks us to stay in darkness and call it faith. He’s not glorified by your suffering. He’s glorified by your healing, your wholeness, your courage.”
Amara looked down, tears pooling again.
“But how do I just walk away? I made vows. I kept hoping he’d change. I didn’t want to give up.”
“Walking away from abuse isn’t giving up,” Chinwe replied. “It’s waking up. It’s choosing life. God is not a taskmaster. He’s your Father. And He loves you far too much to watch you slowly die in a house where your soul can’t breathe.”
A long silence passed between them.
“So what do I do now?” Amara finally asked, her voice cracking.
Chinwe squeezed her hand. “You choose,” she said softly. “You choose light. You choose life. You choose you.”
That night, Amara didn’t sleep much. She lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the moments she had silenced herself for the sake of peace, all the prayers she had whispered in the darkness, asking God to change Eddy, to save their home. But something had shifted. She realized she had been praying for resurrection in a grave she was never meant to lie in.
The next morning, the storm arrived.
Eddy came home with a man and started raining abuses on Amara; " See this idiot! You think you can come from African part of Nigeria to outsmart me that came from American part of Nigeria?
It's either you hand over the school to me, channel all income to my account or I make sure the school is closed down completely."
Her children, all came out to watch helplessly as usual. As Amara was trying to explain to the man he came home with, Eddy rushed Amara and started pounding her, targeting her face and bragging that he must make sure Amara becomes useless to any other man in this life; "By the time I'm done with you, people would spit on you at sight"
Eddy continued hitting Amara until she collapsed on the floor. The poor man that came to ask for money to feed his family couldn't help the situation. When Amara regained consciousness, she saw only her children crying and waking her up. She sent for Chinwe. Chinwe immediately and secretly arranged for a drop that took them to Divine Mercy Hospital. The doctor was furious and demanded for his presence. When he arrived, he pleaded with the doctor that it's devil's handwork. As soon as he sighted Amara's brother, he begged Amara not to tell her brother but mocked her immediately her brother left.
It's already few days Amara returned from hospital. Pastor Dickson visited their house.
Bro Eddy pls kindly tell your wife what you shared with me. Eddy hesitated. "Sister Amara, your husband impregnated a lady called Jacinta and asked her to keep the baby. Although the lady insisted he must furnish a flat for her otherwise she will terminate the pregnancy. He was mad against you because he was having a showdown financially and couldn't meet the lady's demands and you refused to hand your income over to him." Pastor Dickson explained.
Amara was lost in thought...so this man wanted me dead because of women. She remembered how he was bashed by one of his customers when she visited at the hospital.
"Eddy, were you not the one that that told me this woman gave up her 12month salaries for you to have an English machine?
Why are you treating this woman as if she worths nothing?" Mrs Aleme queried
"How dare her say no to my order, a woman that bends to urinate?
She must hand over the school to me. My account must be used for all income!" he thundered.
But she has left the factory for you. The woman reminded
And then? Eddy persisted.
To Be Continued 🙏
What do you think that happened next?
Find out in the next episode 🤔
Pls encourage me with like, follow, comment and share. God bless you 👏
©️Grace Amarachi
#teacherwritersingerlover
#BeautyFromTheAshes #ChristianFiction #FaithAndResilience
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