An Unraveling To Remember

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

I was thinking, recently, about what happened when Paradise went up in smoke. What came to mind were two people clutching fig leaves in front of their genitals.

“Hello! Where are you?” A friendly voice called through the Garden.

God rounded a bush and burst out laughing over the absurdity of the man and woman attempting to cover their shamed consciences with fig leaves. It had to have been awkward—their embarrassment in the Presence of the One who had never intended embarrassment. Did the couple laugh nervously, reaching their free hands for more leaves from a nearby branch? I have wondered if, prior to that, their eyes opened, similar to stumbling upon skinny-dippers on a Sunday stroll through the woods. And did they shield their eyes as their differences spiraled into an embarrassing vortex?

“Who told you that you are naked?” God inquired, probably through tears.

“It was the woman’s fault,” he said. “Incidentally, you gave her to me…”

“Well, it was the serpent’s fault,” she said.

Both stared at their feet.

Genesis doesn’t tell us everything that transpired prior to that conversation. “This looks good!” she might have said, fingering the fruit. “You should try some and see what happens!”

But curiosity had to have gotten the better of them. I have often wondered if the first temptation was less about eating fruit and more about treating each other like guinea pigs.

“No, really,” he might have responded with a smile, “Ladies first!”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Maybe she blushed before delicately sinking her teeth in the fruit.

In that moment, I have wondered if he wasn’t waiting to see if she would melt or blow up! There’s a lot we don’t know about those moments. But obviously the woman was confused over the snake’s deceptive advice and, for whatever reason, the man watched her– maybe even hoisted her up the tree– before taking a bite.

On Bunny Care Taking & Deeper Spiritual Enlightenment

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

Growing up, it amused me when people such as my great Aunt Ruth treated their pets like royalty. Aunt Ruth’s yippy, little dog Jate’, an excitable creature who tended to lose control of its bladder around those wearing sandals, was the butt of family jokes. I found it difficult to understand why Aunt Ruth pampered Jate’ with a plethora of toys and expensive dog foods and treats.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved animals. Before graduating from high school, I wanted to be a veterinarian. That goal only changed when I realized that I cared more about human well-being, and so I majored in psychology and went to seminary. Despite my love for animals, it seemed unwise to become responsible for other living things while immersing myself in studies. Owning a pet was not practical. Spending time and money on a pet, I reasoned, would be poor stewardship.

The many plant corpses that had ended up at the end my driveway, with the trash, could testify to what happened when I focused on exams, projects and papers. It seemed that I was actually doing creation a favor by not making it dependent upon me! Piously, I held to that belief until Serendipity intervened through a rabbit named Stella. Stella would reform my understanding of Aunt Ruth’s relationship with Jate’ as well as what it means to rule and subdue the earth.

Adopting a rabbit could not have been further from my mind. My sister Heather and her family had acquired Stella at a Farmer’s Market in Eagle, Idaho. Later, in the fall, after school ramped up, Heather realized that the kids’ schedules conflicted with the attention Stella needed. Contemplating the dilemma, we discussed what to do.

“Maybe we should let Stella go free,” Heather mentioned over a cup of coffee.

“Are you kidding me? We live in birds of prey territory. Stella wouldn’t last a day!” I shuddered, imagining a hawk swooping down, clutching the defenseless white bunny and flying away.

No, something else had to be done. After some discussion, Heather decided to find Stella a new home. Without realizing the ramifications, I offered to take the rabbit in the interim. I did not know that the experience would transform me into a crooning, cautious parent of the white fur ball.

Being a thirty-six year old childless woman, no doubt, played a part. Maternal instincts kicked in when Stella reclined weightlessly in my arms, looking up with gentle brown eyes. Within a short while, I purchased her fresh vegetables and fruits, nuts, seeds, yogurt dips, vitamins and a variety of entertaining toys including a monkey named Constantine (a favorite for batting around). I also assembled a bunny run and a “Rabbit Kingdom,” a two story hutch that houses bunnies with style. It was completely out of character! I was whooped by those brown eyes. Suddenly, Aunt Ruth seemed less crazy.

In truth, Stella did not always act cute. She often acted abominably, peeing or pooping on my leg or nibbling a hole in a favorite blouse. She also dug holes in the corner of the bunny run in efforts to escape. Upon escaping, she would eat the flower beds, and I feared what would happen if she nibbled on the electrical cord to the barbecue grill. Vigilantly, I would chase her down, keeping one eye open for swooping birds of prey. I imagined the torment of my conscience if her death was ever my fault. Despite Stella’s many annoying habits, my spirit bonded with hers in ways I never imagined possible with a rabbit. If I had not experienced it, I would not have believed it!

Over time, I realized that rabbit ownership was less about owning a rabbit than being owned by a rabbit. Bunny care taking actually became a significant part of my spiritual journey. Caring for Stella taught me things that surprisingly mirrored theological principles in my classes. I began to realize new things about ruling and subduing the earth. To some degree, I had thought of those principles as ones of position, power and maintaining order. Stella, I realized, could not be ordered, much less controlled.

During an Old Testament class, I learned that the Hebrew understanding of ruling and subduing creation actually points at caring, like a shepherd cares for sheep. This has everything to do with serving others rather than trying to be in charge of them. Until caring for Stella, I had never known that, really known that. Much to my surprise, bunny care taking has deepened my understanding of what it means to be a pastor, and I am convinced that my seminary education would be incomplete without it.

A Midsummer Night’s Experiment

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

One summer night, when I was twelve, I began questioning what the Bible says about nakedness. The question hit me in the shower. As water sprayed my tomboyish legs, I realized that I felt zero shame. A lifetime of Sunday school classes had cultivated an awareness of what happened to Adam and Eve upon the discovery of their nakedness after eating the forbidden fruit. I did not know what to think about that when, honestly, being naked in the shower felt great. Toweling off, I glanced in the mirror. Still no shame! Could the Bible be wrong? It seemed unwise to make a hasty decision about the matter, and so I decided to do some testing.

Dropping the towel, I stepped through the doorway of my younger sister’s bedroom: “Come on, we’re going skinny dipping!”

As usual, Heather did not question what I said we should do. She expressed no concern that my ideas sometimes resulted in pain or getting in trouble. Earlier in childhood, I had convinced her to jump off a shed with me while holding onto an umbrella. Not surprisingly, the experience had taught us important lessons about fiction and gravity!

I’m not sure where our parents had gone that night, maybe the store or Bible study. For the most part, I was a responsible kid, and that enabled leeway for some creative experiments when they left me in charge. Stepping across the veranda of the house, Heather and I moved toward the irrigation ditch that ran adjacent to the gravel lane, leading past three horses and a goat, toward the house. Inhaling the soft, warm air, my mouth widened into a smile—Walking around naked was fun!

Heather knew as well as I did what the Bible said about nakedness. And she did not appear to be having any troubles. In the water, we marveled at the stars, letting the current carry us gracefully through a moonlit corridor bordered by grass and trees. As the water brushed my skin, I wondered how something so great could be shameful. Skinny dipping was fun!

Reaching a place where weeping willow branches hung, like leafy ropes from heaven, we suspended ourselves over the water, spinning like tops. A light suddenly flashed, illuminating the water and us swinging in the branches. We screamed, groping for willow leaves to hide us from the elderly man squinting in our direction. Mr. O., our retired neighbor, did not look amused. Tripping over each other, we scampered out of the ditch. Skinny dipping no longer seemed fun! Self-consciously, we leaped across the lawn, onto the veranda, through the front door of the house. Breathing hard, embarrassment engulfed me. Heather’s expression mirrored my shame. And for the first time, I wondered if God’s Word might actually have something important to say.

Life and Ducking

by Amy Rasmussen (copyright, 2009)

“The longer I live, the less surprised I am by all the crap that flies around, and the better and better I get at ducking!” ~ Lily (protagonist of the novel I’m writing)

Frequently such thoughts cross my brain. I am usually sitting in my study alone when it happens, randomly, without connecting in any rational way to a previous thought about friends, family, ministry, fixing lunch or scheduling a repair for the furnace. Laughter busts through my mouth before I wonder whether or not an objective observer would call me nuts. According to my therapist, a questionable sense of humor might actually be a sign of mental health.

My mother is probably the queen of this obscure truth. Sometimes, I randomly laugh over the day she called to tell me she was on the way home from Sears after purchasing a car jack in a creative effort to pump my father back onto his feet after a fall from M.S. The brilliant idea, actually dreamed up by my sister Heather– another queen of this obscure truth– was to pump my father up, using a piece of plywood and a stack of phone books. Brilliant. My parents had become embarrassed that a 911 dispatcher and two precincts of the local fire department knew them on a first name basis. They had been alternating calls between the two precincts, politely spreading the burden around.

“You’ll never guess what just happened,” my mom chuckled. I knew her well enough to guess that something big—and probably painful—had occurred. “I just bought a car jack for your father!” She giggled.

Confused, I wondered, “Whatever for?” knowing that my father no longer drove the wheelchair accessible van that he had recently sold.

“The guy at Sears asked what sized truck my husband needed the jack for!”

Evidently, my mother had requested the largest automatic car jack on the market because my father had grown so large. She continued: “He asked what size truck the jack was for, and I told him that it wasn’t for a truck but for my husband!”

One probably has to be a member of our family to understand that we laughed until we thought our sides would break apart. For those who have not walked in our shoes, we understand how sick it seems. Generally, we keep such things to ourselves so as to not devastate others too much.