Sunday, June 15, 2014

The Bunny That Made Me Blog

So... it's been a while. Like, 3 years. But I started a facebook post this morning and it turned into a blog, so I decided to post it in its appropriate venue. Who knows, maybe it will join my husband in urging me to start blogging again. In any event, here is the little story I wanted to share.

Yesterday morning I opened the blinds in the kitchen to see our cat with a small rabbit hanging out of his mouth, still alive. The kids, of course, were horrified. We managed to get it away from the cat and into a shoe box, but the cat had obviously done a number on it. It had several puncture wounds and a tear in one ear. Not wanting them to witness its slow demise, I suggested we take it to a field and put it somewhere safe, but the girls insisted it was not well enough to be alone and that they needed to help it. I relented. Bethany asked me two questions: What percent chance do you think it has of living? Two, I answered. And what percent chance do we have of keeping it? Zero. Undeterred, they took the shoe box out to the front yard and commenced their attempts to nurse it back to health.

I watched this poor little thing go from bad to worse. It started on its feet but fell to its side. Its body stiffened and its breathing shallowed. The girls wouldn't leave its side all morning, and I periodically checked in, preparing them for what was coming. The kids had an activity to be at, so I went out to tell them it was time to go. The bunny's eyes were closed and it was barely breathing, so I told the girls we could see how it was doing when they returned, relieved that they wouldn't be here when it died. As they were deciding whether to leave the lid on the shoe box or keep it off, the rabbit's eyes suddenly snapped open and it began to kick its feet. I thought perhaps in was seizing in the last moments before death. But then, to my utter disbelief, it rolled onto its feet and hopped right out of the shoe box. I watched, incredulous, as the girls gleefully recaptured it, going over in my mind how this possibly could have happened. I thought through nature's defense mechanisms and all the scientific reasons for this kind of recovery, but ruled each of them out. I've seen enough episodes of 24 to know what a dose of Epinephrine can do, but I was pretty sure the girls hadn't secured any of that. Then, as they held the bunny out to me in delight, they bubbled "We prayed! We prayed outside a few minutes ago that God would save the bunny!"

Then it all made sense. It was a gift. This furry little bloodstained creature was sent to plant seeds of faith in my kids, not to mention my jaded self. We loaded up into the car, the bunny in a box on Harper's lap, and stopped at a field. Quite ceremoniously, the girls said their goodbyes, set the bunny in the shade, and placed a carrot on the ground next to it. It didn't run away, presumably from the fear and shock of being handled and photographed and fawned over, so we left it there and drove away. After I had dropped the kids off, I couldn't help going back to look. Part of me didn't want to, so the story could just end there, but I pulled off anyway and walked a little ways to the spot where we left it. There was the carrot, but no bunny. It was gone.


I drove home smiling as I thought about a God who cares for little girls and bunnies, about faith, and about how hopping around somewhere in Queen Creek is a little bunny with bandaids on.



1 comment:

Becky Smith said...

Thankful for the miracle of the bunny.

Thankful that the miracle of the bunny created another miracle--that of you writing a blog post.

Hooray and hallelujah!