A Rainbow PromisE

One of the hardest lessons in my journey of faith has been trusting the Lord’s promises, even though the fulfillment is taking a really, really long time. Well, that’s my earthly opinion. According to 2 Peter 3:8, “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day.”

​My husband Jeremy and I attended the loveliest service on a Thursday evening following a Mother’s Day. It was held in a church in High Point, North Carolina and was called the “Hannah Service.” We were greeted by the pastor and invited in as if we were friends. We made the decision to attend for a couple of reasons: the Hannah service is intended to comfort parents who lost children through miscarriage or accident or other circumstances, or who suffered through infertility; both of those applied to us, as you’ll see. The sanctuary was decorated simply with a rugged wooden cross draped in white, and the communion table set with a smaller central cross, black cloth, and stones. A large candle sat in each window and was flanked on each side by three candles. The service itself was very reflective and opened with responsive prayer where hurt was acknowledged, and God was asked to give us comfort. A lady sang “Precious Lord” and accompanied herself on guitar. One of the Reverends gave the homily where she spoke of her own loss and how as a doula, she gives comfort to mothers giving birth. She instructed us to light candles placed in the windows, as many as we liked, while the music played softly. We were encouraged to take as much time as we needed and were provided with individual lighters.

This was a very special service for Jeremy and me. Years ago, when we first started trying for children and weren’t having success, the Lord spoke to me and told me He would give me a child. I clung to that promise with all my heart. We never suffered a miscarriage, but month after month and year after year nothing happened, and it really began to wear on us. We talked for a long time about options and after examining our finances decided that we would attempt adoption through fostering. In North Carolina foster parents are required to foster for six months before adoption can be finalized. After going through the background process and months of training, we had a placement of three little girls (siblings). Two of the three had special needs, one of the two severely so. To say it was challenging is a gross understatement. We felt the pressure of the agency requirements, the pressure of having never been parents and feeling very much out of our depth, and the pressure that came from handling constant sibling fights. Jeremy butted heads with the oldest on multiple occasions. Even though we asked for help and suggestions from the agency, we were met with disapproval and eventually the girls were removed from our care. It is a much longer, painful story, but it left us devastated. We were so hurt that we couldn’t imagine pursuing adoption ever again.

When the time came to light the candles, we each lit one for each of the little girls we had loved and lost. We stood there with tears running down our faces and let the love of the Lord wash over us while we remembered and reflected. It was a very moving service. So much so, that much like a Tenebrae service, all participants left in silence.

In a Tenebrae service, Christians gather to remember the Lord’s sacrifice on Good Friday. It is a quiet reflective service where we consider our past sinfulness, how we were forgiven, and think of the time our Lord spent in the grave before His resurrection. The service is lit with candles, and they are extinguished one by one as Christians pray and meditate. By the end of the service, the sanctuary is dark, and the people leave in silence. There was the same heaviness in the Hannah Service. Despite the heaviness, however, both of us felt comforted and as if healing was happening.

The evening of the Hannah Service was rainy. The rain began about the time we arrived at the church and continued until we got back home. It seemed so very appropriate. On the drive home, the sky took on a brown-greyish color. Rounding a corner close to our house, we saw the largest, most vibrant rainbow we had ever seen. So vibrant, that we could even see the blue and violet stripes which are normally too pale to be really visible. I could hear the Lord say to me, “what I promised I will fulfill.” Just like the rainbow in the bible is a symbol of the promise He will never flood the earth again, to me it was a symbol that He will fulfill His promise to me. After all, the Lord is the same today, tomorrow, and forever. He cannot lie. If we are unfaithful, He is still faithful because He cannot deny Himself. It is literally impossible for God to break His promises!

So what does that mean for me in the now? I realized a few months ago that I had made my desire for a child an idol. It was one of the foremost desires in my life. I began to think I could not be fully happy until I had my child in my arms. But here we were after losing the children we loved, and we could not comprehend the idea of going through adoption again. I surrendered my desire, my heart, and my will to the Lord and turned loose the need to know when and how it would happen. In letting go, I found great comfort in knowing I didn’t have to try anymore. I could just rest in knowing God will come through for me. Maybe not right now, but definitely in the future. Though the time seems long to us, I can trust my loving Lord will restore the years the locust has eaten and give us our child when the timing is perfect. After all, His timing is perfect! 


Photo by Federico Burgalassi on Unsplash

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