There, a couple of inches from my right foot, crouched a baby bunny. I grew up watching animal documentaries on “The Wonderful World of Disney” on Sunday nights, so I always create storylines for wild creatures. (Each such episode featured a narrator describing a day in the life of Rusty Raccoon or Billy Bear, as in “Watch out, Billy! I don’t think those bees want to share.” I remember my intense disappointment each and every time I realized Walt wasn’t introducing a cartoon selection at the beginning of the show.)
So of course I began anthropomorphizing---I don’t like to use five-dollar words, but sometimes there’s no better choice---Bobby Bunny as he sat there, motionless. I couldn’t figure out if he were thinking “You can’t see me, you can’t see me, you can’t see me,” or “I’m not scared of you!”
Mr. Pettit noticed Brother and Sister Bunny hopping off in search of a hiding place, one to the boxwoods, the other to the huge holly in the corner of the courtyard. But Bobby remained as still as a garden gnome in the sparse shade provided by the first sprouts of a perennial, even when I knelt next to him. I couldn’t even tell if he were breathing.
I’ve thought of Bobby Bunny often over the past couple of weeks. Our brief encounter is like a dream with a deeper meaning that’s just out of reach. I’ve tried out an assortment of life lessons, looking for one that fits: Be calm when confronted with a giant. Don’t seek refuge in a puny shelter. Recognize danger and flee. Live long and prosper. (Sorry. Mr. Spock pops up at the most inopportune times.)
But one word kept rolling to the front of my mind, even as I flailed about in my search for meaning.
Look.
Where? For what?
Look.
Oh.
The full title of this blog is “A Moment’s Notice: Striving for an Awareness of Each Moment, Reflecting on the Events of Each Moment.” I have a stack of responsibilities at present---as I’m sure you do---and I’ve become single-minded in my resolve to stop the tower from collapsing, block by block, job by job. I’ve stopped noticing the moments slipping by, just as I almost didn’t notice little Bobby. I’ve stopping looking.
And what do I see when I open my eyes to the wider world? A turtle in our yard. (Is our home becoming a nature preserve now?) The shadows of clouds drifting across the mountainsides. A hug from one friend. A long letter from another.
Confirmation that I’d finally heard the right message came in the form of the closing hymn at church yesterday. I’ve always loved “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus,” especially the refrain:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
(Words and music by Helen H. Lemmel)
I was reminded that when I focus on Christ my priorities fall into line. My frantic busy-ness subsides as I keep my eyes on Him and His plans. My anxiety eases as I hear Him saying, “I’ve got this.”
Watch and see.
Look.
