Baby Steps Towards a Rainbow

I don't think I've ever related to Noah until 2020

When I think of his story, the first images that come to mind are of rain, a boat, and animals walking two by two. I forget that after the account of the Flood, there is a whole chapter of the story devoted to . . . waiting.

"The waters flooded the earth for a hundred and fifty days. But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and the livestock that were with him in the ark, and He sent a wind over the earth, and the waters receded." (Genesis 7:24-8:1)

• Eventually the waters lowered enough for the ark to settle on the mountain peaks.

• A few months later, Noah could actually see the mountains.

• Forty days later, he opened the window for the first time since the Flood started and sent out birds to look for land.

• For a couple weeks, Noah's birds kept coming back to the ark to roost - no land to be found.

• One week later, a dove came back with a leaf in its beak.

• Another week later and the dove doesn't return - the earth can support life again.

• But the wait goes on: eventually, Noah can look outside and see the ground . . .

• But it's still almost two months before the world's completely safe and dry. Then Noah, finally, leaves the ark.

Sounds familiar, doesn't it?

For many people, last year swept in like a flood. Plans have been put on hold. There's been uncertainty and loss. We've been cut off from our normal activities and interactions, and we've been left to wait. I love moving towards things; of making routines and making progress. This season of life has challenged me by limiting the plans I can control. Lockdown was like the long days of rain: a sudden, unexpected emergency that means isolation from the outside world. Now that where I live is slowly opening up, I feel like Noah in Chapter 8: "normal" life seems so close yet still so far away. Every week I'm sending out my birds - looking for updates of when I can get involved in my community again. Most times, I feel they come back empty. The right opportunity hasn't come yet. The floodwaters are still receding.

When I look ahead, I want to be excited about a fresh chapter, but I worry that the waiting will drag on. And it very well might. Or not. Whatever happens, it's a waste of the present to fret about an unknown future . . . because whatever happens, we will face it and we won't face it alone. God's rainbow after the Flood wasn't a promise that life would be good to us; it was a promise that He would be good to us. Seasons of life come and go like the weather, but we can grow through all of them. These uncertain, crazy, changing-every-minute times are a great opportunity to develop strength and peace. We can discover habits that make us feel happy and healthy, and we can commit to them. We can reach out to loved ones and support each other. We can be grateful for what we have (even it it's something small - a tree outside your window, a candle that burns with your favorite scent, or a full roll of toilet paper). We are not defined by our "normal" activities. We can continue to show up for our mental and physical health no matter the circumstances. Even if that means adapting or trying something new or simply taking a break.

It's easy to feel stuck because the condition of the world is out of our control. I want to leap into more stable times, but all I can do is take baby steps. This year, I want to learn to be grateful for those baby steps. I want to release control of how things should be and instead find patience and productivity in how things are. God will preserve us in times of rainbows as well as in times of floods.

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when He appears, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is." (1 John 3:2)