I asked God for a rainbow so he texted me one.
Whenever I need one, he gives me one, always, always with his unique flair for creativity.
I don't ask regularly because rainbows aren't regular things. I don't want them to become mundane or insignificant. Rainbows are treasures, like the strand of pearls my husband bought me on our 10th wedding anniversary--the one I wear on special occasions, or the crystal punch bowl that once belonged to my grandmother--the one I fill with eggnog each Christmas Eve like she once did.
I don't take them for granted. I store each one up in my heart and turn them over, savoring time and time again the way each one feels, each one a priceless gem, remembering the occasions God used them to show me his love, respecting the process for the next time I will again need one.
I guess that's why God has never, and I do mean, not one time ever, failed to give me one when I've asked for it.
We have respect for one another regarding rainbows, God and me, so I honor him by not expecting one all of the time and he respects me by being rainbow-generous.
He knows when I need one most.
So when the date approached for the launch of my first book in which I write about rainbow wonder, and every little glitch and thing that could happen threatened to derail my launch date, and me, I asked him for a rainbow. You see, May 3, my release date, would be the 30th anniversary of my father's death in a plane crash and since I felt God had told me that would be my publishing date, finally, after many postponements over the previous year, I didn't want to be wrong.
He'd been sending rainbows to remind me of his promises, after all, beginning years ago with that first rainbow he placed over the aircraft my 14-year-old daughter had boarded for flight. When she was frightened to be in the place her grandfather was just before we lost him. When God assured us it would be okay. Thus, it was appropriate to ask for one when it appeared Milk and Honey Land would not publish on May 3 like I'd hoped.
When it seemed like I hadn't heard God correctly, that I had been too zealous, too wrapped up in my own head. Perhaps he had another day in mind. A date more important than May 3.
I asked him for a rainbow as I stepped out of a hot bath that morning. Then I toweled off and instructed my friend Alexa to play worship music. Jen Johnson's The Goodness of God began and from the first note, I was captivated. Amazingly, I hadn't heard it before. Amazing because Jen Johnson is one of my favorite musicians! And then I knew. I just knew. God was speaking to me. The right song was playing at just the right moment, the words I needed to hear right when I needed to hear them.
"All my life you have been faithful..." she sang, "and all my life you have been so, so good..."
As tears streamed down my face and I got ready to turn my blowdryer on, my phone buzzed with a text message and I glanced down to the counter to read it. Now, here is where things really get interesting, because that text message was this and nothing more:
"Let's some chase rainbows." Two small rainbows accompanied it. There was no other writing. I took a screenshot.
Coincidence? No way.
It was an advertisement from OshKosh.com about a sale on kids' clothing. I had been meaning to unsubscribe to those emails for weeks. Well, I'm glad I didn't.
Rainbows are part of my story, promises from God to me. I've received them as banners across the prairie skies, as beautiful oil paintings and colorful pictures and prisms of light scattered, and as text messages, each as unique as God's thumbprint, every single one a beautiful connection, a bridge from God to me, at exactly the time I needed communication from above.
And each time I cross over to meet God on my rainbow, I'm painting my own for the world to see.
Each time I receive one, I am storing it up for a glorious future.
Remembering that my book really did publish on May 3. On that day, my rainbow was bigger than ever.
Photos by Tim Easley and Cory Woodward