I joked with a friend the other day that the next thing I wrote was going to be about fluffy bunnies. I’d spent some serious time writing a lengthy devotional, only to spend the entire next day living what I’d written. Which would have been fine if I’d written about chocolate or buying cute new sweaters or finding the perfect short boots. But I’d written about change, and how our choice in change is to go into it reluctantly or to grow from it.
I didn’t want to have to deal with that. That’s no fun. But as my wise friend Eryn pointed out, we write what we live and we live what we write. And I can’t very well write something for someone else and ask them to make hard choices if I’m not willing to do it myself.
The funny thing about my fluffy bunny comment was that God immediately brought to mind a story He wanted me to share. About a fluffy bunny and fear.
Over the summer my husband and I built a large fence in our backyard, primarily to give our toddler a safe place to play, but also because it was a beautiful and addition to our home. In our minds it was the perfect combination of form and function, and we would be able to send our kiddo out to play without worrying about whether or not she would wander into the front yard.
As we were making pizza one afternoon I asked if she would head out to our garden, in the far left corner of the backyard, and pick some basil. She jumped at the chance and ran out the back door to gather a few handfuls of herbs, delighted – as always – to have the opportunity to help like a “big kid.” A few minutes into her venture I heard her scream.
I assumed she’d been stung by a bee and ran out to make sure she was ok. I’m not sure toddler legs have ever carried a little one so quickly and she was up the steps and sobbing into my arms in seconds. It took awhile to understand what she was saying, but we figured out that she wasn’t injured.
She was scared.
“It hopped and it was big and it was fluffy and it SCARED ME.”
Ok, so. Not a dog – they generally don’t hop. And there wasn’t anything in the backyard when I’d gone out. Not a snake, because those aren’t fluffy. Not a bee, because those aren’t big.
“Honey – was it a bunny?”
Sniff. Hiccup. SOB. “YES!!”
In a stellar parenting moment, neither Matt nor I laughed until much later, but it took quite awhile to settle her down after her terrifying bunny incident.
Fear does that to us, though, doesn’t it? When something comes at us when we least expect it, we’re terrified. We don’t get a clear look at it, we’re not sure what it’s intentions are, and we assume the worst for survival. Then, in the light of day and with others who can share truth, the thing we’re so afraid of becomes smaller and more manageable.
I don’t know what you’re fearing today, but bring it to the light and to the comforting arms of the Father. You might still be startled by the surprise, but the paralyzing fear will fade as we trust it to the One who is able to bear the weight of the unknown for us. And you might just end up with a fluffy bunny story at the end of it.