L'Chaim

I was chased by a bunny rabbit once.

I’m not proud about that fact, but there you go. Actually, it kind of feels good to get it off my chest. To be fair, though, the way I remember that fateful day, and the way my family remembers that fateful day, differs ever so slightly. "Ever so slightly" is a phrase which here means "they are completely wrong about everything related to rabbits and myself."

Because this is my blog, and you are my blog people (or, "peeps" for all you street folks out there) (or, "plebeians" for all you Roman middle-class citizens out there), I will shoot straight with you. Right here, right now, I vow to tell the whole story. No editorializing (never on this blog) and no exaggerating (not my style). Here, at Heavenly Hats, I like to stick to the facts. Because, hey, I don't run a social networking site. I don't want you plebs lingering here like this is some sort of virtual, Church of Christ friendly bar, with your non-alcoholic chocolate martinis and candy cigarettes, just shooting the breeze and flirting. (Or, I guess if it's CoC friendly, it would be shooting the breeze and not flirting. But that's a different post altogether.)  I don't get paid to provide entertainment; I'm a "news-only and only news" kind of author. You know, completely unbiased and totally not at all trying to sway you with my rhetoric. Kind of like Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck.

But back to the bunnies.

I was living in southern Illinois at the time, a carefree second grader with a propensity for dancing to Tom Chapin's Preacher Herman and constantly putting my Glo-Worm, Glowie, and Cabbage Patch Kid, Carlie, in time-out for fighting. (Hey, only-children have very good imaginations.) I went to play outside with my friend (real, not imaginary). We were playing this awful game where you run and then the other person runs, and then you run some more (I think it's called "tag"), when we decided to go to the back yard. Looking back on it, I see my mistake was in the “more running” suggestion. Why, oh, why couldn’t I just have been a sedentary eight year-old?

We got to the backyard and stopped in our tracks. Staring at us was the largest dog ever known to man (to this day, I still swear it was Cujo's older and slobbier cousin, Fujo).We just stood there, frozen. Frozen like little second-grade riblets. Like the riblets my dad tears into on Rib Day at Famous Dave’s. I could see it in his eyes: It was Rib Day for Fujo.When he started bounding towards us, however, the adrenaline kicked in. He was barking, we were barking louder, and by the time our screams had reached Chicago, we were in the front yard, panting and crying.

My lovely, supportive parents, however, did not scoop me up and comfort me. Instead, they doubled over in laughter. And not polite, knock-knock joke laughter. It was full-on, "Ellen DeGeneres is having a dinner with Demitri Martin while Will Ferrell is imitating George Bush at Jim Gaffigan's wedding" laughter. It was "our daughter is a moron" laughter; laughter, that unfortunately, I would hear many times again, once even on my 12th birthday (who else here knew that you don't pronounce "lbs" like "lubs"?).

I could not believe they were laughing at my impending doom. I turned to show them the hungry monster about to eat me and say "I told you so," and maybe, if I had time before becoming dinner, stick my tongue out at them, but when I looked, Fujo was gone. It was like he disappeared into thin air. And in his place? A wild bunny rabbit. Brown, small, with a fuzzy white tail. Hopping away from the backyard like her life depended on it. Almost like she was being chased. By a rib-craving canine.

At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My parents love to tell people the rabbit story. Of course, their version omits the dog, and paints a picture of an eight year-old Kaitlin running from the backyard, terrified, as a bunny chases her to her parents' protective arms.

(I'm glad you and I actually know the truth.)

Life can be kind of unpredictable. I know, I know, wise words from Sensei Kaitlin, but even after being chased by a tiny, fluffy mammal, it still took me about 16 years to learn. My new favorite band, Mumford & Sons, has a song called "The Cave," which has really resonated with me lately. There is one particular line (amidst several) that perfectly captures the place I've been for the last few weeks:

The sun, it rises slowly as you walk
Away from all the fears
And all the faults you've left behind

As the singer continues, he talks about finding his purpose. In indicating God's hand in his plan, he goes on to say that he will "live [his] life as it is meant to be."

I realize that I've still been running away from rabbits. My fears. My faults. My insecurities, prejudices, pimples, and off-key singing. All these are things that I see as large, ferocious dogs, when, in reality, they are small--so small--compared to my Maker. And, sometimes, it's hard for me to remember this and live my life "as it is meant to be."

As a child of God.

As a servant.

As a joy-giver.

As a grace-getter.

As a peacemaker.

As a friend.

As a sister.

As a new creation.

Free.

I'm working on it. In the meantime, if you hear me barking, don't be alarmed....