For forty days and nights, Noah and his family had a safe, but tumultuous, journey on board the ark while the underground waters erupted from the earth and the rain fell in mighty torrents from the sky. For forty days and nights, the flood waters grew deeper – and then, the family waited. It would still be almost a full year before the waters receded and the earth was dry enough for the family to come out of the boat, and Noah would sacrificially express his gratitude for God’s protection and provision, and listen as God spoke to him and his family. And then God placed a rainbow in the sky -- His image and promise of hope that He would never again flood the entire earth in judgment. Throughout the millenniums, the rainbow has continued to be a symbol of hope, the hope we reach for when life has been anything except what we had wanted. The storm rages – storms of disappointment, loss, tragedy, confusion, darkness. In despair and pain, I long for the rainbow – some semblance of hope that life can once again be good, meaningful, or productive, vibrant with a forward look.
For forty weeks, and a few extra days, I carried the baby within me that I longed to hold in my arms, cover with kisses, and sing to her the songs of childhood. I longed to watch her grow. I longed to nurture her. I longed to teach her about Jesus. I longed to play games, take family vacations, be her teacher and encourager. I longed for her potential as a young woman – and so, so much more. But the storm came -- the ugly, tumultuous, destructive, dark, cocooning storm. My daughter was born incapable of sustaining life and death came quickly. Emotionally, the underground waters erupted and the mighty torrents fell.
Recently, I have heard about “rainbow babies,” babies who are born after a mom experiences a pregnancy or neonatal loss. The term represents the beauty of hope coming after the tumult of the storm. Not that a second child in any way “takes the place of” the first child – because that simply doesn’t happen – but the healthy newborn refreshes the hope of anticipation even while the storm that will never fully dissipate, still lingers, although prayerfully, it will soften. And yes, I was blessed with my own “rainbow baby” who is now a full grown man with children of his own. And, in my own thinking, I have three “rainbow babies” – three healthy sons who defied the statistics that one or all of them, could have been born without the capacity to sustain life, just as Tonia was. But even more, each one has enlarged my understanding about the rainbows God gives, because as I think about rainbows, and even rainbow babies, I am more aware of the multitude of times, God has given me a rainbow in the midst of the storm that still lingers – whatever that storm has been. His rainbows of hope confirm His presence, His love, His care, His provision, His leading and direction, His ability to bring beauty and purpose from the tumult of the storm. Rainbows come with the understanding of God’s truth, the joy of being freed from the cocoon so I can walk, simply walk, from one day to the next. Rainbows come as I watch God weave together the happenings of my life. They come in the hugs and companionship of a friend, the simple expressions of gratitude from all my rainbow babies, and strangely perhaps, they come in sharing the tears of another. And the most delightful of rainbows allows me to share the hope the rainbow represents – to be God’s light in the darkness of another’s tumult, to help still the erupting waters and the falling torrents.....................
– Bev
(Related Bible reading: Genesis 9:12 - 19)
