Temporary Bunny

Dad had been out working in the field on that sunny, spring morning, when he stopped to come into the house, and called me over to see what was in his pocket. At three or four years old, I was curious about everything, so I hurried over to see what he had brought me. Carefully, he reached his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny, fluffy, brown, baby bunny, staring at me with its beady, black eyes. I reached for it eagerly, and he taught me how to hold it gently, while Mom went to find a shoe box. We lined the box with grass from our yard, then placed the bunny in the shoe box when I tired of holding it. For the next few days, my nameless bunny lived in the box, behind the cookstove, where it was warm.

After the chores were finished on Sunday morning, we all got ready for church and Sunday School, leaving the bunny safely in his box behind the stove, while a savory beef roast, and pared potatoes and carrots, cooked in the oven.

We only lived a mile northwest of Bloomfield, so it didn't take long to drive home after church. I ran into the house, eager to see my bunny again. The cozy kitchen smelled heavenly; dinner was ready, waiting for us. But, when I looked behind the stove, the shoe box was tipped on its side, and my bunny was missing!

We looked all over the house, and finally found the bunny's hiding place. I put him back in his box so we could eat dinner, but he had grown big enough to jump out of his box whenever he wanted to, so much of the meal was spent scooping up the bunny and putting him back in the box. After we finished dinner, Mom and Dad informed me that it was time for the bunny to go back outside to live. After all, he was a wild bunny.

Seven or eight years later, my four-year-old sister, Laura, was recuperating from a tonsillectomy, in our fourth floor apartment in the Hotel Mary-Etta, when Dad brought her a bunny of her own. This time, the bunny was a tame, white one, with pink eyes. When Laura wasn't snuggling with him on the couch, her bunny, who was named something typical like Snowball or Fluffy, lived in a large cardboard box behind the mammoth swamp cooler in our living room. For several weeks, as she regained her strength, Laura played with him every day. But, eventually, Mom and Dad grew tired of picking up the little presents he deposited on the carpet, and Dad found him a home with another family, on a farm somewhere in the country.

My daughter, Meagan, was eight or nine, and Erin three years older, when I drove to Mitchell one sunny, spring morning to pick up a surprise bunny from a local breeder. I chose a little brown, lopped-eared bunny that sat patiently on my lap all the way home. She was a real snuggler, so we named her Sabrina Snugglebunny. She lived in a cage that we bought at a garage sale, but she often had the run of the house, and was soon trained to use the cat's litter box. However, that was more trouble than it was worth, because she made a huge mess just jumping in and out of the litter box. It wasn't too long before Bill and Meagan built a whole rabbit condo in our backyard, where Sabrina stayed on all but the most frigid days.

Sabrina was the first in a long line of 4-H rabbits that Meagan showed at the fair, usually winning purple ribbons, and sometimes even reserve or grand champion in showmanship. Our whole family learned more about rabbits and rabbit care than we could ever have imagined. Sadly, we also learned that rabbits, like all pets, are temporary.

Yet another bunny is about to make its appearance on the scene, as the iconic, yet imaginary, Easter Bunny shows up this weekend to bring joy, eggs, and plenty of candy, to children all over our nation. I'm not sure how the Easter Bunny tradition originated, but it seems to be a permanent addition to our American cultural celebration of spring.

For that's what this upcoming weekend has become, for many Americans--a celebration of spring's arrival. There is nothing wrong with celebrating spring; those of us who live where winter is often cold and snowy are always overjoyed when spring finally arrives.

Yet, the Easter Bunny and all of the other spring hoopla has lead to something new among some of the Christians I know. Many are calling this Easter Sunday by a different, more appropriate name: Resurrection Sunday. For Christians everywhere, this Sunday is so much more than a delightful celebration of spring. For us, it is the day that defines us. It is the day we celebrate Jesus' resurrection. Without his ultimate sacrifice for us, we are nothing. But, because he chose to die for us, and because he still lives, forever, we have hope of eternal life with him.

Thankfully, there is nothing temporary about that.

Let us give thanks to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! Because of his great mercy he gave us new life by raising Jesus Christ from death. This fills us with a living hope. 1 Peter 1:3