Dimond of Hope
“Dance with me under the diamonds…” That first line in Justin Bieber’s song “Anyone” stopped me in my tracks. As the melody played, something in my spirit stirred—and the dots began to connect. The invisible story I’d been living started taking on color. It was a beautiful January evening. I remember every step I took walking up to the front door of my counselor’s house. I looked up with a little smile on my face and noticed just how clear the night sky was. The stars shimmered like diamonds. I paused for just a moment to take it in then walked inside. Now, diamonds are supposed to be a girl’s best friend, right? But by this point, I hadn’t worn my wedding ring in years. I wasn’t dancing under diamonds. I was barely breathing beneath them. Just over two months earlier, I had come face to face with the truth: my 29-year marriage was over. I had filed for divorce. I had a VPO in place. I was done holding on. I had let go and I was freefalling under the diamonds of the night sky.
Every night I’d lay my head down, mentally and emotionally exhausted. Stress, fear, anxiety it was all poisoning me from the inside. And financially? I had no idea how I’d survive on a hairstylist’s income. But on this particular night January 28, 2020 as I looked up at the sky and caught a glimpse of those diamonds, I felt a flicker. A glimmer. A sparkle of hope. Something in me knew: God’s going to take care of me. It was a quiet knowing. Not flashy. Not loud. But solid. Secure. Like a wedding band made of hope His promise wrapping itself around my heart. That from this day forward, He would love me, keep me, honor me, and cherish me. I didn’t know how He would do it. But somehow, The Hope Diamond shined like a spotlight over me.
I had no idea what I was about to walk into when I turned that doorknob and stepped inside. This wasn’t a normal counseling night. I had been attending this group since 2015. Every January, we come together to pray and hear God’s heart for one another. It’s always a sacred time setting the tone for the year ahead. Words are spoken. Visions are shared. It’s like a compass—an anchor to hold onto when the storms hit. Sitting in the “prophetic chair” wasn’t new to me. I’ve been prayed over many times. I’ve even helped speak words over others. But something about this night felt different. I couldn’t explain it, it just did. It wasn’t intimidating. It wasn’t heavy. I wasn’t… sacred.
There were about 13 of us in the room. Ten women I knew well and three I had never met. These three were there specifically to pray over us and hear from the Lord on our behalf. I was one of the last to be prayed over, which meant I had the joy of hearing God speak to each woman before me. And then… it was my turn. I stood up and walked to the chair, step by step, fully aware of how strangely comfortable I felt. I was in the middle of what could only be described as a personal hell—divorce, VPO, house for sale, anxiety, panic attacks. And yet, as I sat down, peace wrapped itself around me like a blanket. I crossed my legs, folded my hands in my lap, and smiled. I closed my eyes, and the feeling intensified. It was like a sunlamp was on my face. A warmth I couldn’t explain. Not from within but outside me. Radiant. Cozy. Familiar, but also brand new. My skin and soul were drinking it in.
And then we sat. In complete and utter silence. For a full 1 minute and 82 seconds. No one spoke. And somehow… it wasn’t awkward. And I hate awkward silence. But this wasn’t awkward. This silence had weight. It had purpose. The warmth stayed steady, glowing over me like light from another realm. And then Rose leaned in. Her voice was soft, full of joy and reverence. With a little laugh she said, “The quiet isn’t because we don’t know what to say. It’s because the Lord says the spotlight is on you. He’s letting you stand in it. Relax in the spotlight. Get used to it.”
When she said the word spotlight, it all clicked. The warmth. The glow. The light on my face and skin. It was the spotlight. That night, I was dancing under the diamonds. I didn’t know what the days ahead would hold. I didn’t know how heavy things were about to get. The swirl of fear. The depths of grief. The intensity of the panic. But my Father did. And on that cold January night, He gave me something to hold onto. Hope. Wrapped in diamonds. Anchored by light. And shining like a promise that still guides me today.
Rachel, Xoxo!