Reminder of a Promise

Doug spent Friday in class obtaining the 12 annual credits he needs to remain a lawyer in Mississippi. One problem was the class was in Louisiana, where he's been publicly disbarred for life. The other problem was the morning's keynote speaker was none other than the man (A.K.A. "Kurtz") who hunted down Doug like an animal so he could put his head on a stake in effigy, thereby warning other lawyers.

As soon as I found out about the class, I started praying and fretting because I could just see some of the snooty lawyers there being mean to my husband: snubbing him, making snide remarks, staring, pointing, whispering. Kurtz apparently saw my husband but didn't approach him. My fears, then, were obviously unfounded.

But when I picked up Doug after class for a dinner-date, during the entire drive to the restaurant, I could tell the old wounds from the situation had been torn open again. When my quiet man won't let his lady get in a word edge-wise, that is a sign he's hurting and needs to get it out.

It may seem strange that in our household, we don't talk much about such a life-changing event. Weeks or months may pass with it doing little more than crossing my mind, never lingering there. And then something happens like this, and it'd like we're back at square one. All the hurt, the pain, the "what if's", the anger---they all return, rushing to the surface, and making me want to just cry out to God and ask for a do-over. The pain must come out someway.

By the time we got to the restaurant, I felt a palpable sadness, like a heavy hand on my shoulder. I could've just gone home, buried my head in an already-wet pillow and cried again. But, we trudged forward, deciding to keep our reservation. Plus, the darkening storm clouds indicated it was about to rain--and being wet wouldn't do anything to our moods.

An hour into the meal, we were doing well: talking, laughing, planning, looking at the good and the humorous in our life and family, dissecting sermons strategies, and watching it rain into an open-top BMW. The discussion of an hour earlier was only at the edge of our minds.

And then it happened.

I looked out the window to see not one but two full, clearly-defined rainbows. A symbol of God's promise. Doug understood why God sent them and said, "One wasn't enough. He thought you needed two of them." I understood, too, and it was awe-inspiring...and humbling.

Things like this always happen when I lose faith, question God, and get the "mully grubs" for lack of a better term. When that happens, God throws up a sign, maybe a rainbow, showing me He is still in charge and that He's promised to always have my best interests at heart.

I do know in my heart of hearts that you, Lord, are still in charge of everything. Nothing happens to us that isn't sifted through your fingers. Forgive my unbelief.