The days fell into the usual routine of simply getting through the day, solely so that I could have the privilege of sitting on the grass and having someone to finally talk to about everything– hoping that I would be understood. While I’m not talking about the rabbit, it still showed up each night as I sat down to make my petitions, and would pass the hours with me, as he ate our front lawn. Sometimes the rabbit would already be there when I finished up the evening tasks, others I had to wait a bit for him to come.
The months passed and I continued to tirelessly declaim my life as well as the lives of the many around me. I persisted in making these requests made known, ever followed by my closing entreaty to die. I began to see most if not all of the prayers answered, save for the latter. I began to notice many little things come into my life that I had needed but hadn’t asked for- very specific things- as though to say that the thoughts I was not even fully cognizant of were heard as well. The things that I needed to live were continually provided, of which had not escaped my notice, but deep down I confessedly struggle with genuine gratitude for the means to carry on. In regards to things that don’t really affect my life, I’d been having such good luck that I felt I was due to get hit by a rogue satellite dish.
After some time, the rabbit would not come in the time that I would sit and wait for him, so I would start talking to God around then, and only then would the rabbit promptly arrive. I began to like to imagine the rabbit as God’s way of saying that He was there and listening- or at least prepared to listen to one of the most acerbic human beings to walk the planet.
There came to once be a few nights that the rabbit had not been as much as seen, and I sat out late into the night, particularly angry and probably crying something like a six- year- old trying to understand why they would “never” be able to have their favorite toy in the world back. It’s no secret that my world has been in ruins for some time now, and despite the natural job and propensity of mankind to endure under absolutely any circumstances, I have yet to find the means to do so in such a manner that makes it appear better than the alternative. So I was very upset again, and I was sure the rabbit was just sick of me, likely everyone else, probably even Jesus Himself was holding it against me that I couldn’t just get over it and move on with some kind of an at least fake smile. Why wouldn’t that be the case… because that’s how *I* felt.
I remember I was sitting in the dim glow of the streetlight with my head against my knees pulled up to my face, studying the concrete. Rabbit hadn’t shown up at all in nearly four days and I figured he had gotten a girlfriend or something. I started apologizing to the air for who I was, because clearly it was wrong and the very quality of feeling overtly ashamed of oneself was even further undesirable. I don’t know why I felt the inclination to try praying to Jesus in particular- they’d always told me in Sunday school how He was always there or could be your best friend or something like that… it sounded childish but ok.
There was a bare spot at the edge of the grass from where I and the rabbits would often come down the hillside. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit when rabbit would come barreling down the so fast he would lose his footing and spin out a little.
“Jesus, I really need to see You right now, to see with my eyes that You’re still here with me, that You’re not mad at me or sick of me too. If You’ll show me, please send the rabbit right now- make him come out of his hole and go right to the patch of dirt there-”
I paused a second as I said it, thinking it was ridiculous to think God would send some rabbit out in the middle of the night to sit on some patch of dirt just because I asked for another sign. I lifted my head and looked out in front of me to see the rabbit there in the streetlight, on that exact part of the dirt, looking at me. He stood up on his hind legs and studied me quizzically, as though he didn’t know what I was doing or why the fuck he was out there at one in the morning. Something about that moment said more to me than all the tests before and also seemed like something out of a movie in its execution. But all I wanted to know was that if my life was effectively over, if God was mad at me or not.
I knew I could likely get a billboard and I would doubt again next week. Everyone said I had no faith- but the problem was that I felt the definition of “faith” itself had been transmuted by wishful thinking and optimism, solely to give American Christians something to hope for- even if it was in vain. Faith that what? I don’t doubt God’s ability. I fear the means towards His eternal will. They were rarely comfortable ones. That was my problem in getting along with most Christians. They believed in a feel good, “things will get better,” God who was always working to make our lives happy and fulfilled. It felt blind. That wasn’t the world I saw. That wasn’t the world I felt. Life sucks and always does. But I’d learned that the hard way, because I used to be blind to the world around me, blind to truth, and honestly- relatively happier for it.