Like a Child

One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could touch and bless them. But the disciples scolded the parents for bothering him.

When Jesus saw what was happening, he was angry with his disciples. He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” Then he took the children in his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.

Luke 10:13-16 (New Living Translation)

It's another rainy day at the circus, so the girls and I are camped out on the living room floor, playing with puzzles. Out of the blue, Kathleen leans in and peers up into my eyes.

"Mama," she says, "will you help me ask God for a rainbow?"

My heart wells up.

"Oh, sweetie," I answer, "of course I will."

So we bow our heads and pray, and we praise God for the rain He's sent, which our land so desperately needs. And we ask Him, if He wills it, to show us a rainbow. If He doesn't, we ask that He give us the eyes to see the beauty in all that He's placed around us.

And we say "amen," and Kathleen returns to her puzzles without another thought. I'm left thinking about her confident, childlike request. We've not seen many rainbows since we left Hawaii. What will I tell her if there's no rainbow? I lift up a silent prayer of my own -- for faith and for wisdom -- and set about making lunch.

A few hours later naptime is over, and I'm heading into Kathleen's room to get her. I know she's up; I've heard her bouncing around on her squeaky bed for about ten minutes. When I open the door, I see that she's perched on the edge of her bed. She's pulled open the long drape that covers her window and she's peering out.

I'm about to reprimand her for playing with the curtains (a known no-no), when she turns to me, beaming.

"Mama," she exclaims, "God made me a rainbow!"

At first I'm confused, and I think she's asking whether God will make her a rainbow, and I take a deep breath, preparing myself for difficult explanations. But my girl persists, challenging my fearful and faithless heart.

"Mama, look! My rainbow!"

I cross the room and pull the curtain open to look for myself. The rain of the morning has given way to sunshine -- and a rainbow, arching over the airfield.

We pause to to give heartfelt thanks for the rainbow, a gift which seemed impossible to me and inevitable to Kathleen, before we quietly hurry downstairs, so as not to wake little Madeline, who's sleeping in the next room.

Kathleen sits at the table for her afternoon snack. I dash out the back door with my camera, eager to snap a photo of "Kathleen's rainbow," but it's gone.

The rainbow has always been a sign of God's faithfulness (Genesis 9:13). But, for me, that afternoon it was more -- not only a sign of God's faithfulness, but also a fleeting glimpse of the faith I hope will last far longer than my daughter's fleeting childhood.

Not "Kathleen's rainbow," obviously, but one of the many rainbows we'd see in Hawaii. This one was photographed from the beach at Waimea Bay.