“Real men don’t cry,” I was told yet again, and again, and then again.
Sometimes I think being born into a military family might have had a few drawbacks. Nevertheless, all of the men, including my uncles, cousins, and dad, forged ahead and served our country with honor, a touch of bravery, and a boatload of bravado. As boys, my uncles were an especially burly pair. Like the “Sons of Thunder,” they were strong in mind and body; the tough guys of their neighborhood. Some would say bullies. Mom would tease that while growing up, no one ever messed with her because of uncle Fitz and Wes.
“James the son of Zebedee and John the brother of James, to whom He gave the name Boanerges, that is, ‘Sons of Thunder.’” Mark 3:17.
While a bit smaller in stature, my dad was also strong-minded. When he was around, he would point a steady finger at me and say, “Boy, don’t let me see those crocodile tears!” He always scowled at me for showing signs of weakness, and with each new scolding, I wiped my sadness away on my nearest sleeve and a stoic character took a firm grip on my young and impressionable mind.
Over time, I held in my growing pains, but they would manifest in ways other than tears—the ways of an angry teenager, a gang member, and a ruffian. I could be wrong, but I don’t think I truly smiled until I was 25.
As the years moved forward, I drifted far from my old habitat and experienced a few influential events that changed my perspective on life. The world was far bigger than I had thought. I remember the elegant curvature of the earth, seen through the windscreen of a B-52H Stratofortress. At an altitude of 50,000 feet, the earth is like a sapphire jewel, contrasted against the stark blackness of space.
Then there was the panorama beneath the canopy of a midnight sky, while heavily bundled against the cold of an Arabian desert. Like a child looking up for the first time, I was mesmerized by the view. Millions of shining points of light, each seeming to hover upon infinity, while a band of cloudy luminescence called the Milky Way traced a lonely path to nowhere as it stretched like an astral haze across the moonless night.
Then there was the thunderous, bone-shaking reverberations of a Titan rocket launch out of California, headed for deep space. The shock waves pounding away at me and the world beyond, as it rose into the heavens on a column of fire and smoke, never to return home.
All quite unique and fascinating events for an adventurous heart.
But never in my life have I experienced the simple beauty of a rainbow. Not like the one that hung over our ministry after this storm. Flanked by gray clouds, it parted the skies like a statement from God. An expression of His blessings and protection. Our Lord is here! I thought. I may have shed a tear or two. Don’t tell dad.
“Jesus wept.” John 11:35.
You see, every once in a while, like a postcard picture, we are blessed by a colorful crescent above this ministry. But never have I seen one like this. It was one of those special moments in time.
As the tornado warnings alerted us on our phones, the powerful tempest stalked in from the west. I watched an angry 400-mile squall line approach and thought we were going to take a direct hit. Then it split, passing north and south of our ministry. Soon afterwards, its apocalyptic path was replaced by a rainbow composed of Red, Yellow and Blue.
The colors were perfect and vivid. Its arch stretched from horizon to horizon with perfect symmetry. Fingers pointed upwards, and camera phones clicked, as every beholding eye stood in awe of God’s splendor. On this humid day, it was a clear sign to our ministry of His love, His protection, and His everlasting covenant.
“I set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be for the sign of the covenant between Me and the earth.” Genesis 9:13.
As I stood there in the parking lot, I saw hope and wonderment in the eyes of all the witnesses—a hope that no camera can capture. Perseverance was the thought that crossed my mind. For the people of God, a rainbow lays on the other side of every storm.
In it, I saw an image of peace, because I’ve seen too much of war. Red.
I saw the likeness of empathy, because I have seen the greatest of hope. Yellow.
I witnessed the love of God; because between the clouds, I saw a symbol of His grace. Blue.
I saw these things and more, while standing underneath a rainbow on a soggy Thursday afternoon. And this time I was not alone.
With so many thoughts, seasoned with a dash of hope and a sprinkle of imagination, I thought I’d share a small peace of it with you today. A comforting joy, and a tearful memory of standing underneath a rainbow, over a ministry, after a storm.
