Unicorns and Rainbows

Let me just come right out and give this disclaimer:  I am embarrassed to publish this post.  It's taken me a few weeks to gather up the gumption to even start typing it.   But I suspect my brain won't leave me alone until I release it via written text, so here it goes.

I am not a "Rainbows and Unicorns" kind of girl.   I don't wear pink cardigans or glittery nail polish.   I'm not a happy-go-lucky optimist.   No, I'm more of a negative realist.   I wear gray and navy.   My happy face is my excited face is my sad face is my annoyed face is my every day face.   I believe bad things happen to good people for no apparent reason, and those good people can choose what to do with those horrible circumstances.  They can either grow through them or wallow in them.  I've personally chosen both on varying occasions.   Anyway... to choose to sit down and write what I'm about to write.... it's not comfortable.   

I pray.    I pray a lot.   I pray for myself, for my husband, for my kids, for my friends.   But mostly I pray for two main groups of people.  I pray for the Church (as in "the entire body of Christ-followers") and I pray for those who aren't yet convinced that Jesus is worth following.    My prayers for the Church have been hugely influenced by the letters of Paul.   Paul's epistles are filled with prayers for those to whom he was writing.    He didn't just bark orders of how to live a holy life.   He prayed for the churches over which he'd been given authority.  He then communicated those prayers to them in his letters.    As one who is pursuing ministry, I've found no greater template for praying for the church as the prayers of Paul.    One of my most frequent prayers for the church is found in Ephesians 3:14-19:

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.

I can't tell you how many times I've prayed that for my brothers and sisters.   The ironic part is, I rarely pray that same prayer for myself.   Actually, I often roll my eyes when hearing someone ramble on about how we just "need to be held" or "let God love on you."  It feels so... passive.   But I'm a doer.   I like solutions.   I love the Great Commission because there is activity involved: Go.  Baptize.  Teach.  For me, activity is more comfortable than passivity.   The reason for that is probably an entire series of blog posts.

Objectively, I grasp the importance of understanding the love of Christ.  Subjectively, it becomes difficult.   But a few weeks ago, God Himself (and I don't say that lightly) reminded me of the vast, immeasurable love He has for me.   I had planned to go to a conference in my hometown, and was hoping to take a few friends along.   For reasons beyond their control, all those friends had to cancel.   So I set off on a 500-mile road trip accompanied by my four-year-old daughter.  My ears filled with nothing but road noise and rain splashing on the freeway, (Daughter was entranced with her iPad) I found myself, again, praying Ephesians 3 over the Church. The weather was a drizzle/sunshine mix.   One minute my wipers would be intermittently swishing across the windshield, and the next moment I would adjust my visor to keep the sun out of my eyes.    

I'd settled into a rhythm of praying through the rain showery drive, when I glanced to the east.  I was immediately in awe of the widest "pillar rainbow" I'd ever seen.   It seemed to literally stretch from heaven to earth.   It was a sight to behold, so I interrupted Daughter's screen time so she could see it.   Back to praying and driving through the drizzle.    

Fifteen minutes later, Daughter yells, "Momma, look!  Two rainbows!"   Sure enough, toward the east once more there was the brightest, most perfect double-rainbow I'd ever seen. One rainbow, cool.  Two (three if you consider the double) rainbows in fifteen minutes, rare.   But I still went back to praying and driving through the drizzle.  

Another 20 minutes goes by, and it's close to sunset.   Once more, I look to the east.    And this time, I saw the mother of all rainbows.   It spanned whatever town I was passing on I-57.   I'd never seen one so complete, so bright, so perfect.   And in that moment, He spoke to my heart.    

"My love is for you too.   Four rainbows.  The height.  The depth.  The length.  The width of my love.    Please see it.   Please know it.  As you intercede for others, I intercede for you.  My prayer for you is to comprehend my love, and rest in it."

What do you do with that, other than sob for the rest of your trip?  I thought about that experience all throughout that weekend, but was embarrassed to tell anyone about it.  On my way home, I called a friend and tried to convey in words what my heart was feeling.  I immediately regretted telling her. My pride reared it's ugly head, telling me that my imagination was getting carried away and that I should throw away such childish myths. But as soon as I hung up the phone, I looked to the east.   There was one more rainbow, as if God were putting an exclamation mark on what He'd spoken to me a few days earlier.   "Don't doubt.  Believe.  Be loved.  And rest in Me."   

I'm still a gray-wearing realist.   But I'm starting to believe that some days, it really is about rainbows and unicorns. Okay, maybe not the unicorns.