Ok, open to interpretation, I will admit this. And I am not one to accept the mystical at face value. However, If you
know what a read only file is, you know it is not a file you are altering unless you are creating a whole new file. You can
open it and read it without worrying about messing it up.
So, 10:00 Saturday night, Dawn and I are both looking at read only copies of my Sunday message. We both close the file
and I try to re open it to alter it. It is gone ... completely. This should not happen, where could it go? It was not being
altered. I don't give the Devil much credit, but I think he took it. We looked every possible way on three computers, it was
gone.
So I am coming to grips with the situation. I will preach the message in whatever way God makes it possible. I will not
sit up and try to rewrite it, I couldn't anyway ... Steinbeck I am not. At this point I decide, I'm going to rest, it is a
hard enough sermon that it will not be helped by fatigue. Dawn says she want to try one thing, a file recovery utility. We've
tried these before with no success. But we will take reasonable measures, not extreme measures.
So she runs the application and there is the file, right where it should be, formatting intact, completely fine. It is
the only file there. Now, I don't know how many files I've deleted from my computer, it is more than one, and this is the
only one that came up. We recovered it, opened it, saved it, and it was there for Sunday morning, no problem.
Ok, this is a miracle. I don't diminish Dawn's computer savvy by saying this, it is not a miracle I could have worked.
But whatever supernatural stuff was going on in my hard drive, I had faith that God was going to make Sunday happen
and Dawn had faith that she knew how the file could be recovered. But God moved that file. I'm convinced. God put the file
in place, and Dawn knew how to attempt find it. It is a good feeling.
I've never seen it before, except on Monty Python. But in our own yard, this bunny, sitting in the field while a couple of
blackbirds are roaming the grass nearby. Suddenly the bunny dashes toward one of the birds and he flies a few feet and lands.
I dismiss it as a coincidence, until a few minutes later the bunny does it again, to a crow. Eventually the bunny dashes across
the lawn about 30 feet to lay a full flank on the blackbirds and they fly away completely. The bunny hides in the bushes.
This is more expected.
Suddenly the bunny dashes back out across the lawn toward the house, laying a full flank on
the crow again, and the crow vacates. Then the bunny disappears below the window and I can't see him any more. He has been
labeled our "attack bunny." A true laugh out loud moment.
There is something profound here about the aggression
of the humble, about overcoming instinct to ... I'm not sure what the bunny had to gain. Most of us are shy or fearful of
sharing our faith. Maybe we can learn from the attack bunny. Though, I wouldn't take this analogy too far.
