First grade was a notable year for me. I learned to read, and I was introduced to Mr. Bunsen the Rabbit, who got into all sorts of adventures.
One night I finished up my homework and got into my pajamas. Then I got down on my knees to say my prayers. Reading was new for me, but I was an old hand at praying. I’d been going to church since before I could talk.
Momma said going to church was one of the most important things a person could do, so if the doors were open we were there. I knew God listened to all our prayers, both in church and at home. And tonight I had a very special prayer to make. “I want a rabbit of my own,” I said. “I promise I’ll take real good care of him. I’ve got plenty of room for him. I won’t let him get into any scrapes as bad as Mr. Bunsen does. And don’t worry about Buzzard. He’s a bird dog. He likes rabbits just fine.”
When I was under the covers Momma came in to kiss me good night. “What did you pray for?” she asked, tucking me in.
“I prayed for a rabbit,” I said. “A rabbit of my own.”
Momma didn’t seem to think my prayer was quite right. “Now, Van,” she said, “that’s not the kind of thing we pray for. Things for ourselves.”
“Okay,” I said, but my mind was full of rabbits. It was too late. I’d said my rabbit prayer, and I knew God heard it. Even if Momma didn’t think it was a proper prayer.
I didn’t bring it up again with her the next morning. Nor did I tell any of my friends about it at school. I just waited for God’s answer. When I got home Momma was at the door. “I’ve got something to show you,” she said. I followed her into the utility room. Buzzard trailed behind me. Momma reached into a shoebox on the washing machine and pulled out something small and furry. It wiggled in her hand. A baby rabbit!
“Early this morning I came out to do some washing,” she said. Her voice was hushed, the way she sounded when she talked about miracles. “Buzzard came in and laid this wild baby rabbit at my feet.” Momma put the little rabbit in my hands. “God answered your prayer,” she said, mystified. “I guess God does answer rabbit prayers after all!”
Truth be told, I didn’t understand that a miracle had happened. I’d never doubted God would give me a rabbit, so I wasn’t surprised that it came in a bird dog’s mouth. It made a big impression on Momma, however. After that day, whenever she wanted to remind us God loved us, she’d say, “Remember the rabbit prayer.” Momma told the story to my own children to teach them just what faith can do.
But when Momma died, my rabbit prayer faith seemed to die with her. She and Daddy were just starting to enjoy retirement. I felt like God had betrayed me and I was angry. Too angry to pray about anything.
The day of Momma’s funeral the family gathered at her house. I sat in the corner, away from all the talk of heaven and the joy Momma must have found there among the angels. Joy I couldn’t share. My brother-in-law, David, a minister, arrived at the house. He’d gone by the cemetery to see if the grave was ready.
“It’s a very peaceful spot,” he assured us. “In fact, somebody’s already moved into it. Remind me to speak to the attendant before the funeral about the baby rabbit.”
“A what?” I said, the words cutting through my anger. “What do you mean? What rabbit? Where?”
“Down in the bottom of the grave at the cemetery.”
This I had to see. And sure enough, there he was. No bigger than the rabbit Buzzard laid at Momma’s feet all those years before. I gathered him up in my hands. Remember the rabbit prayer, I could hear Momma say.
I took the rabbit back with me to Momma’s house and held him for a long time, welcoming back that same faith I’d had in first grade, when God’s love was as real as Momma’s and miracles happened every day.
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