Unicorns, Rainbows, and the Freedom of God

There’s a stuffed unicorn I sleep with at night. Her name is Miss Innocence.

I didn’t realize until recently that God was using her to tell me something about who I really am.

God continually downloads revelations and breaks strongholds in me, and I’m experiencing this at a greater level than ever before. With each revelation comes deliverance from decades of accumulated lies — lies about myself and about God.

Miss Innocence was given to me by a godly woman who knew I often use stuffed animals at night to support an injured shoulder. But God revealed something deeper; in His eyes, I’m already Miss Innocence.

When I think of unicorns, it’s not about mythology. It’s about what little girls imagine when they think of unicorns. When I was little, my dad let me choose the wallpaper for my room at his place. It was off-white with fluffy white clouds, rainbows, and playful unicorns.

To a traumatized little girl, that wallpaper was an invitation — an invitation to escape, to ride off to places of abandon on the back of something fanciful and freeing. The rainbow became my private promise of restoration and protection after the shame and trauma of abuse, just as God created the rainbow as His promise of safety and protection.

Father God is absolutely enamored with me not because I prove myself (believe me, I’ve tried), but because He sees that little girl who found refuge through unicorns and rainbows. How fitting that the place I associate with some of my deepest trauma was also where I had the greatest capacity to ride away on my imagination.

God reminded me that the traumatized, scared, angry, confused little girl inside me chose joy, playfulness, and freedom instead of bitterness. That choice mattered.

All morning, every time I thought the word freedom, my arms automatically opened wide, exposing my heart to God. Without realizing it, my body was responding by embracing a newfound abandon to simply be His little girl.

I pray you’ll have these kinds of epiphanies too — true revelations about who you are. Not because you fight for justice or because you’ve gone through hell and back and survived, but because you recognize who you are and where your strength comes from. Nehemiah 8:10 reminds me that the joy of the Lord is my strength.

When we let God handle the injustices, we cut ties that bind us to trauma, drama, and shame. He doesn’t see us as untouchable or unclean. He doesn’t see the wheelchair I now use. He sees His little spitfire gymnast running on a mountainside. He sees the little girl who built a treehouse with her grandpa and mom, listening to the radio and daydreaming.

That vision gives me permission to see beyond the labels of disabled, tainted, traumatized and to remember who I really am. I’m still a dancer at heart. In worship, I often picture myself dancing spontaneous, beautiful movements to a song only He and I can hear.

Today, I prayed with the freedom of a unicorn named Miss Innocence.

• Now, I invite you to pause and reflect. Where did you find joy when life tried to teach you darkness?What did your inner child reach for — imagination, play, wonder — when pain tried to name you?

Maybe you once picked out your own version of rainbow-and-unicorn wallpaper. Maybe you set that child aside to survive. But she’s still there, and she’s still precious to God. Let Him show you how He sees you — not marked by trauma or defined by labels, but innocent, beloved, and free. Let Him carry you across the clouds and through the rainbow.