An Emmanuel Rainbow

Mercy is in surgery this very minute as I, Erica, write this.

It’s hard to sum up the distress, anxiety, and sheer terror of the last 24 hours leading up to this surgery, coupled with the grief and exhaustion from our journey so far. It’s hard to look ahead, hard to be in the present, hard to look back over the last few months.

Though I am certain we have seen God‘s mercies sprinkled throughout our NICU journey, it is difficult to feel his presence in the daily struggle. I find myself too tired and heart sick to pray coherently sometimes, too afraid to ask for good things for Mercy because I’m scared God will say no (I do it anyway eventually).

In this season, being faithful and trusting God often looks like me shaking my fist at heaven. I’m tired from years of grief and loss, tired of having to look so hard for signs of God’s goodness and love for me, for Dave, for my kids.

This morning I left early to drive downtown. I wanted to be here time for rounds, and have as much snuggle time with Mercy as possible before surgery and many days of no snuggles. I was driving south on 94, telling God I didn’t know what he was up to and begging for his help in healing Mercy today. I didn’t know where he was in this. I glanced at the sky.

And there, smack in the middle of the brilliantly sunny winter sky, was a chunk of rainbow clear as day. And I felt him prod my heart: “I am here.” 

Many of you know that unexpected rainbow sightings were a way God showed up reminding us of His faithfulness near the end of Heidi, my sister’s, life. A couple of weeks before she died there was even a triple rainbow which felt very significant- a reminder that we three sisters would be reunited in heaven. And here he is again.

I’m still hurting, I’m still terrified. I have no idea what they are finding in and doing with my baby girl’s intestines right now. But God made himself small to be with us when he came.

Emmanuel, God with us. 

He made an impossible rainbow today to remind me that he loves me. He loves Mercy. He’s with us.