For the past two years, a rainbow sighting makes me think immediately of sweet baby Joel and his mama. Because life is unbelievably sad and sometimes so hard for us to understand, I now think of baby Delia, too.
Delia breathed her first and last breaths on the same day, her mama a high school friend with a heart so kind and pure that you can't imagine why such pain would be brought to her. It was, though, and on the day that Delia went to Heaven, the sky was painted with rainbows. We saw one, people in many other states saw one. Delia's earthly life was short, but she left her mark in so many ways.
Leaving the house yesterday morning, I saw this rainbow. It stretched from one end of the field to the next, so perfect that we could see each end touching down in the field. It was so big that I couldn't fit it all in the viewfinder of my phone, fumbling to hurry and snap the picture before it was gone.
By the time we got in the car, it was gone. Then, ten minutes into our drive, it was back. Stretching across the road, ends shimmering in the tall fields of corn. Breathtaking.
I know the science behind rainbows, of course. I know the explanation and yet. This world is so filled with sadness and a lack of understanding that the simple fact that something so beautiful can exist, can arch and paint the sky with colors gives us the freedom to suspend our beliefs. To believe in the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, to know that a hand that never held a brush on earth holds the brush in Heaven and paints the sky for everyone who was left behind. Simply, to hope.