I hear the voice of the servant that comes running to share the unimaginable. I hear the voice this week as we receive the news in our own community as Philando Castile is shot dead in a scenario where the hedge was breached a long time ago—and life lost through the hands of the one who was to be the protector. I hear the voice from the little girl in the backseat who tries to comfort her mommy saying, “It’s okay. I’m right here with you.” I hear the voice in the cries of the young son of Alton Sterling. I hear the voice as I see the scene unfold the shots begin to ring out—and as the protestors run for shelter, the police officers courageously run towards the gunfire. Protecting those protesting them. Protecting, twelve were shots and five died.

How are we to respond? Let us look for the rainbow. The beauty that is in all of the colors—distinct, vibrant, and beauty in each individual color. While the colors may blend as one gets close to the other, each is distinct.

When I was first learning to ski—worse than the trying to learn how to stop—which for a long while was an uncontrollable fall-- was getting off the ski lift-- For at the same time my feet were beginning to touch solid ground, but my seat was planted firmly in the safety of a solid—yet moving bench… In there was that moment—that required transferring trust from my firmly planted seat—to my unconfident feet that were going to have to immediately go down a ramp--- I remember the first time—in my hesitation—I couldn’t do it… and now I was back in the sky-- with all yelling at me—and I jumped…