Beauty from Ashes
As school leaders, one of our primary tools of the trade is the alumni story. After all, our alumni are the fulfillment of our mission, the clearest representation of why we do what we do. Their stories fuel our mission, anchoring current and prospective families, donors, and other stakeholders to our values. Telling an alumni story well is very important to our schools’ success.
Needless to say, as I complete my 23rd year at my school, I have many alumni stories to share. I love them all–those stories of outlandish achievement–Ivy Leagues, our nation’s academies, and NASA; of students who are now school parents; and those who have now returned to be my teachers and administrators. But my favorite stories, those which resonate most deeply with me and bring me to tears every time, are the “beauty from ashes” story–not the high achiever, as amazing as they are, but the kid who struggled, often through dark and painful seasons, only to be rescued by the healing power of Jesus.
In Isaiah 61, which Jesus quoted in His home synagogue to herald the beginning of His ministry, He announced that He brings a “crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” These stories, played out in the lives of my alumni, capture my heart because they are the gospel painted vividly, in all its tragic beauty, on the canvas of our school.
And none of these stories is more gripping than when it involves your own kid.
I had three girls go all the way through Grace, including Annie, my middle child. Rather than telling her story myself, I’ll let her tell it with me (in italics).
My time as a student at Grace was incredibly formative, even more than I would have imagined when I walked the stage in 2017. Following graduation, I attended Baylor University. I felt exceptionally prepared, not just academically, but spiritually and socially. I valued my four years there, and I attribute my ability to thrive to the education, safety, care, and genuine love I experienced from my Christian school–from teachers who cared about excellence, but also about my heart.
When I graduated from Baylor in 2021, I moved to Dallas and started in a role I was very underqualified for. I was hired as the Head of Public Relations & Events for a large luxury department store. Underqualified and underexperienced, it was time to put to use the work ethic that had been cultivated in me from a young age. I wasn’t scared of working hard or not knowing how to do something.
I also felt prepared to work in an industry many perceive as cutthroat and dark. Rachel Pavey, my 10th-grade English teacher, always reminded me of the importance of knowing who I was and whose I was. Those around me at work had a completely different set of life experiences than I did and did not share my faith, but because I had a clear sense of identity in Jesus, I was able to form relationships with my colleagues from a place of genuine security, curiosity, and care.
I began my next chapter- a pivot into a slightly different industry that I have always loved, interior design. In April of 2023 (about 3 months into the job), I was driving to meet my boss at a client’s home in East Texas when I lost control of my car in the rain, resulting in a rollover accident. My car flipped upside down and was filled with water. God saved my life, but I didn’t know at the time that I sustained a head injury. Following my accident, I was diagnosed with PTSD and underwent treatment. PTSD and traumatic brain injuries share quite a few symptoms, and PTSD masked my head injury until I was officially diagnosed months later, after my condition worsened. I also have a history of migraines and concussions. My doctor later shared with me that these types of injuries often play dirty, attacking already-weakened areas.
The most prominent areas of impact were my short-term memory, vestibular system, and migraine headaches. Although much of this time is very foggy, I do remember how defeating it felt to be living with a brain that did not feel familiar. My brain used to work one way, and it didn’t work like that anymore, and I still can’t put into words the complexities of that and all the little ways I experienced it each day. During that time, I was unable to work, and healing became my full-time job.
After finding the right doctors, a process that took six or seven months, I was put on a grueling but effective protocol that essentially exacerbated my symptoms in an effort to desensitize them. This meant, when I felt dizzy and nauseous with migraine pain, I was supposed to exercise, running instead of lying down. The idea was to make my symptoms as manageable as possible and set my brain up for success as it heals, because I learned from my doctors that the brain ultimately heals itself on its own timeline.
To this day, it baffles me how formative a time can be when the exact details feel very cloudy. I don’t feel like my time of healing was or has been a beautiful montage. For a while, each day truly felt as if the Lord were forgetting to give me my portion. I had a very hard time regulating my emotions and experienced a lot of pain. Things that used to bring me joy now discouraged me. I felt like I couldn’t access parts of myself that had once brought such approval, praise, and favor in the eyes of others.
In the midst of all of it, though, the Lord kept putting a phrase on my heart…”You trust Me with all of it, or you trust Me with none of it.” I considered the Lord faithful when He gave me an amazing family, education, and friends. I considered the Lord providential when He brought me to Baylor for an amazing four years. I considered the Lord trustworthy when He called me to step away from my first job post-grad. I trusted Him so easily with the things in my life that suited me…would I trust Him with my pain and weakness? Would I trust that He is still writing the story for my life? And would I trust that He is still faithful even if I do not heal completely? I wrestled with all of it.
In His great generosity, and over the course of time, I have experienced so much healing. My migraines have reduced significantly, my vestibular system feels stronger, and I am able to retain so much more information.
Once I was able to start adding work back into my life, the Lord knitted together opportunities for me that I would never have seen the vision for on my own. He paved a path for me toward creative consulting- working in the interior design, fashion, visual merchandising, and luxury event business in a way that allows me the flexibility that I sometimes need with bad migraine days and doctor appointments, while also playing to my areas of strength across multiple industries. I would have never chosen a non-linear career path on my own, but He was working all things together.
Through my recovery, I have often lamented that I’m not who I used to be- things that were easier for me, the energy I used to have, and the years “lost” in my mid-twenties I wish were normal. But as I just reached the three-year mark since my accident, I have been reflecting. The Lord has been graciously reminding me that He is making something new. He is sanctifying me not to who I was before my accident, but to someone who looks more like Christ. I have wrestled with Him over these past three years, but I was not scared to do it. My faith is my foundation. I knew I wasn’t going to lose it. I knew He could handle my doubts. The Lord’s character and goodness have been instilled in me as long as I can remember. He has been equipping me all along for all He has for my life.
I am thankful for the way my K-12 education taught me to think critically, work hard, and problem solve. I am thankful for my teachers who helped cultivate my creativity and love of learning, and for those who taught me that it is okay to do hard things and challenge myself. I am thankful for the staff who acknowledged the good they saw in me. I am thankful for the safe place the school was for me to make mistakes and struggle. They helped me become who I am now.
People have watched God work in Annie, and have said, “You must be proud of her,” and, “You must be glad the Lord is healing her,” and I am. But over the three years Ashley and I have walked with Annie, I have felt all these things, as well:
My daughter could walk into a room and capture it- she was charismatic, yet considerate and kind. In the past, I thought, “How are you going to use this amazing gift for your glory, Lord?” Over these three years, I’ve wondered, “Why would you give her these gifts, and then threaten to take them away?”
Of all my children, she’s the one who suffered the most during her life–the concussions she mentioned, illnesses that took her mostly out of school from January to June of her sophomore year and much of the first semester of her senior year of high school, and other conditions it’s not my place to share. I found myself asking, “Hasn’t she suffered enough? Why not just give it to me? Or take it from her altogether?”
God saved her life the day of the accident. He’s healed her remarkably, but not fully. She has desires of her heart: children and marriage. No one is better with children than Annie. Will God give her those desires?
I’ve watched her in pain, crying, sick to her stomach, and my heart’s been ripped out with her. And in the midst of this pain I’ve carried as I’ve walked with her, I’ve realized that God isn’t just healing her. He’s healing me. Healing me of my arrogance and presuppositions about how life is supposed to work. Teaching me to surrender control of everything by surrendering that which is most precious to me. Teaching me to measure God’s goodness in small graces, and by the cross itself, and not by the trajectory of any of my loved ones’ earthly lives or successes.
He is teaching me that even in my darkest hours, as long as He remains just and good, I still have a claim on Him. And He’s teaching me that He loves my children more than I could ever hope to, and who they’re becoming in the eternal weight of glory is everything to Him, and what I was actually praying for all along on all those nights I knelt by their cribs and their beds, whether I knew it or not.
My children are like most of our students: children of the Living God, mighty and courageous in the hope of the resurrection of Jesus, imperfect and broken in who they are now, but more than conquerors in who Christ has declared them to be, and in who they are becoming. God has placed you and me in charge of shepherding and stewarding the place that forged them to become those people, and that is currently making God’s little ones into those people right now. Together, these kids will be the next wave to conquer their work and their generation with peace, hope, and love, in His Name. Their stories are God’s glory manifest in us.
Jay Ferguson, J.D., PhD, is the Head of School of Grace Community School in Tyler, Texas. Jay is finishing his 23rd year as head of Grace. Since that time, Jay has worked to build a flourishing culture at Grace, a vibrant educational community of 1,500 students ranging from “diapers to diplomas,” that was awarded Blue Ribbon Exemplary status by the U.S. Department of Education in 2015 and 2017. He is an adjunct professor at Baylor University and serves on the faculty of the Van Lunen Center at Calvin College. He has served on the adjunct faculty of Gordon College and at Peabody College of Education at Vanderbilt University. He writes extensively, and he has contributed to multiple works, including CESA’s Building a Better School and Building a Better Board. Jay is Past Chair of the Board of the Texas Private School Association (twice), former Executive Council Chair of the Council on Educational Standards and Accountability, and former Chair of the executive board of the Association of Christian Schools International. Jay and his wife, Ashley, have three daughters: Emma, Annie, and Ellen.
Annie Ferguson is a creative consultant, specializing in storytelling across fashion, public relations, events, and interior design. Drawing on experience in luxury retail and residential design, she approaches each project through a narrative lens- shaping how a story is communicated visually, spatially, and experientially. She brings a refined, strategic perspective to creating cohesive and visually compelling atmospheres and brand experiences. Annie holds a B.S. in Apparel Merchandising and Entrepreneurship from Baylor University.