grace

I am naked before You.

You are clothed in My glory.

Rescued

"He's not even my bunny!" I protested through my sobs in the vet's office.

Growing up, all I wanted was a puppy or kitten. It seemed like something magical... like a living toy that had to play with me. I didn't want anything as much as I wanted that. I remember a field trip in kindergarten when the whole class walked to the fire station to look at the truck and talk to the firemen. More than anything about that trip, I remember that Mrs. Nolan told us she had a surprise for us after the trip. I was ecstatic because I knew that it had to be puppies. I was sure each of us was getting our own puppy. She seemed so certain that we would all love what she had planned for us... and what else would fifteen five year olds love? Mrs. Nolan thought the answer to that question was orange popsicles. I sat on the grass with all my classmates, dutifully sucking on my popsicle, wondering if the puppies were coming later.

Fast forward two years: Finally my pet dreams were coming true. He was little and gray and lovely. And he was mine. I named him Spud and trained him to come when I called him, I dressed him up in my cabbage patch clothes, and I entered him into contests (mostly costume contests. I'm serious.). It was wonderful. And then we got another cat. And she was also wonderful. And then that cat had kittens. And that was doubly wonderful. And then my mom married a veterinarian, we moved into a bigger house and our pet population exploded. Exploded. We lived in a house in the woods, and so the animals were indoor/outdoor. And plentiful. I remember at some point counting eleven cats, five dogs, a snake, a tank of fish, and a tank of mice (for the snake).

It’s like the thirsty little kid, trying to get some water from the water fountain, but the stream is so weak he's practically sucking it out. He doesn't realize that it's only weak because someone just flushed a toilet somewhere, and it takes just a couple seconds to shoot out full-force and soak him. That's what it was like.

So I was very suddenly aware of all the hair on every piece of clothing I owned, the smell of litter boxes, the noise of rowdy dogs, and a bunch of other things a seven year old doesn’t think about. But most of all, I remember the weight of responsibility we assumed to care for each of them. My mom is an amazing caregiver. Amazing. Because my step-dad was a vet we got all the animals no one wanted: a three-legged cat, a diaper-clad cat with nerve damage, I think someone was missing an eye, a litter of sick and tiny kittens, and a bunch of other misfits. And my mom would change that cat's diaper, get up multiple times at night to feed the newborn kittens, and pretty much run the show, making sure everyone (including my sister and I) had what they needed. And I don't ever remember her complaining.

I, on the other hand, was way too sensitive for this gig. I remember holding the tiniest of those sick kittens in my hands, watching every breathe, praying that God would help him, and then crying as he died. That wrecked me. Not to be a downer, but that was pretty formative for me. I realized just how crushing that responsibility could be. I was nowhere near being one of those people that you hear about growing up on a farm, accepting that death is just a part of living. I wish I would have been, but I was at the other end of that spectrum, miles away from well-adjusted. I was devastated each time. And adding up all the animals that came and went, that's a lot of devastation.

So I swore that I would never own animals as an adult. Never. I imagined myself as a mom, solemnly refusing to buy my teary kids a dog. And I was okay with that.

Fast forward to eight months ago: I'm coming home at around 10pm and as I pull into my driveway I see something sitting right by the entrance. I drive past very slowly... it's a chubby little bunny. I sit in my car for a while, thinking about what to do. And then decide that there is nothing to do, and I walk into my home with proud resolution. "It's fine. I feel good about not making this my responsibility. This sort of thing happens all the time-- people let their pets go and I don't need to be the saviour of all the unwanted pets. I'm not even going to think about it. The end."

For a week, he came to my yard at night and ate the pears that fell from my trees. It took two days for my wall of resolution to melt into a rescue plan. I enlisted some help from friends, constructed a temporary pen, did a ton of bunny research, and I saved him. Just in time to find out that he was incredibly sick.

Crap. So here I was, in this place that I had been avoiding for years and years. Something is sick and I need to help it or it'll die. Apparently God had decided it was time I revisit this. He had an infection in his eye and we went through three anxious visits to the vet before anyone figured out what was wrong. Little guy's eye swelled shut and the skin above it died. And this is where the story began. I'm sitting in my vet's office after they've brought him into the room with a nickel-sized chunk of skin missing from above his swollen-shut eye. I dissolved into tears. "He's not even my bunny!" At this point I had had him for about a month and I wanted to leave him on the table and go home. I didn’t want a bunny. I had never wanted a bunny… it seemed like a very weird thing to want. And my life felt full. I was going to school, involved at church, working in special ed, and that was all quite enough. I didn't need a sick rabbit. And above all, I was terrified of being the one responsible for keeping him alive.

But I stayed with him as they walked me through the five medications that I would need to administer daily. Five. One of which was an injection. Are you kidding me?? "So, who takes homeless rabbits?" I asked the vet tech. There had to be somebody who would take him. I just couldn’t deal with this right now. But nope, apparently the rabbit rescue shelters only rescue the ones who are about to be killed at the pound. Great.

So I took him home. I did what they told me to do and I prayed for help. And after all my whining and digging my heels in, God's grace to me was so sweet. A new roommate moved in the same week the bunny showed up. She had her degree in zoo keeping and turned out to be a sanity-saver. One of his medications had to be given four times a day, spaced out evenly... meaning that there were only supposed to be six hours between doses. I tried to stay up late to give him his nightly dose and then wake up six hours later to do the am one, but I was wearing thin and she saw that. She graciously stepped in, and woke up at 6:30 every morning to give him his morning meds. She also gave him his injection at 1pm every day. Without her I wouldn't have been able to help him. She was a special gift to me.

And money came when I needed it. The bills were overwhelming, but God provided.

I believe that Arley (that's his name) was a gift to me from God. This rescue took place during a time when my doctors were giving me some scary news about my own health. I felt as though I needed to be rescued… which is probably another reason I wasn't up for nursing a sick animal. I was pretty spent already. But God knew better, and I got to be a part of helping something heal. I was privileged to watch this little life recover and eventually thrive.

And throughout this process I slowly came to terms with the possibility of him dying. God is teaching me to live with open hands. Not to cling to what I love, but accept that most things are only here for a time. So I found rest (am still finding rest) in that scary space where I can only see where my feet are, and not where they are going. That space where responsibility and possible loss hold hands. That space that exists outside of oneself because life is about much more than what I want. Thank God that He is willing to move me when I need to move.

And Arley makes me laugh... which I know God loves.

And now he is my bunny, and I want him. His needs are still overwhelming to me sometimes, but I can appreciate the fact that he is an opportunity for me to trust God. I am growing and thankful.

PS I feel like I need to add-- A week ago I got news from my doctor-- my body is healthy. For those of you who don't know, this has been a very scary journey for me. But God walked it with me-- through the fear of illness to the other side where trust is. He is so good.