"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
- - Gordon B. Hinckley
August 19, 2013
Just Like a Lawnrabbit
by Kathryn H. Kidd

It’s official. We have a lawnrabbit.

We probably have many of them. You know how it is with bunnies. They were born to breed.

Thus far, however, we have only seen our one lawnrabbit. He limits his activities to our small front flowerbed, where he digs holes and eats our fire bushes.

When my husband Fluffy walks past him, however, he is not incriminating himself like that. No, he sits calmly in the flowerbed, facing outward like a tiny, furry lawn decoration. You can almost hear him saying, “What holes in the flowerbed? What partially-consumed fire bushes? Surely you can’t think I would do anything like that?”

Of course, the lawnrabbit has no idea that Fluffy has been observing him from behind the trees, watching him dig those holes with his sharp toenails and stripping the fire bushes of their lower leaves and limbs with his sharp bunny teeth. Oh, he is one busy little lawnrabbit!

When Fluffy gets close enough for the lawnrabbit to see him, however, the lawnrabbit becomes the picture of innocence. He quickly settles himself with his back to the house and his nose to the street, as though he has been sitting there ever since dawn. His posture tells us that making mischief is the farthest thing from his mind. In fact, he is virtuously guarding what is rightfully his — namely, our house.

When Fluffy walks by, the lawnrabbit even pushes his feet out from under his body, displaying his little toenails as if to say, “See? No errant fire bush leaves here!”

Our lawnrabbit is the picture of innocence, even though his little feet are guilty of all sorts of misdeeds.

All the while, our front flowerbed gets more and more holey, and our fire bushes get less and less leafy.

Fluffy and I get great amusement out of the lawnrabbit. I was especially amused the other morning when I heard Fluffy, one hand on a hip and the other shaking a finger at the little transgressor, sternly saying, “You will not eat our fire bushes. You will stop digging holes in our flowerbed immediately.”

The lawnrabbit looked at him placidly, not even dignifying Fluffy’s tirade with an answer.

Sometimes we human beings are disturbingly like our lawnrabbit. We are guilty of big transgressions and small ones, but when others call our actions to our attention, the natural reaction is, “Surely you can’t think that of me?”

I may be so aghast that I have spent the entire afternoon playing computer solitaire rather than working that I will even lie to myself about it rather than confronting the ugly truth. “Surely I did something else in between solitaire games. I can’t remember what it is, but I know I did something.” Or, “Surely Fluffy and I don’t watch that much reality television.” Or, “Surely I didn’t consume that many sunflower seeds. How did the bag get empty?” Or, “Surely that nasty comment didn’t come out of my mouth. I’m not that kind of person.”

The answer is all too apparent to the casual observer, even if we manage to deceive ourselves.

Eventually, at the end of this life, each of us will see our actions replayed in beautiful Technicolor. We will know exactly how many hours we wasted playing computer solitaire or watching reality TV, how many bags of potato chips or pieces of cake we actually consumed, or how many horrible things we actually said to others. Perhaps now is the time to mend our ways while we have time to repent. If we wait until the end, it will be everlastingly too late.

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About Kathryn H. Kidd

Kathryn H. Kidd has been writing fiction, nonfiction, and "anything for money" longer than most of her readers have even been alive. She has something to say on every topic, and the possibility that her opinions may be dead wrong has never stopped her from expressing them at every opportunity.

A native of New Orleans, Kathy grew up in Mandeville, Louisiana. She attended Brigham Young University as a generic Protestant, having left the Episcopal Church when she was eight because that church didn't believe what she did. She joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a BYU junior, finally overcoming her natural stubbornness because she wanted a patriarchal blessing and couldn't get one unless she was a member of the Church. She was baptized on a Saturday and received her patriarchal blessing two days later.

She married Clark L. Kidd, who appears in her columns as "Fluffy," more than thirty-five years ago. They are the authors of numerous LDS-related books, the most popular of which is A Convert's Guide to Mormon Life.

A former managing editor for Meridian Magazine, Kathy moderated a weekly column ("Circle of Sisters") for Meridian until she was derailed by illness in December of 2012. However, her biggest claim to fame is that she co-authored Lovelock with Orson Scott Card. Lovelock has been translated into Spanish and Polish, which would be a little more gratifying than it actually is if Kathy had been referred to by her real name and not "Kathryn Kerr" on the cover of the Polish version.

Kathy has her own website, www.planetkathy.com, where she hopes to get back to writing a weekday blog once she recovers from being dysfunctional. Her entries recount her adventures and misadventures with Fluffy, who heroically allows himself to be used as fodder for her columns at every possible opportunity.

Kathy spent seven years as a teacher of the Young Women in her ward, until she was recently released. She has not yet gotten used to interacting with the adults, and suspects it may take another seven years. A long-time home teacher with her husband, Clark, they have home taught the same family since 1988. The two of them have been temple workers since 1995, serving in the Washington D.C. Temple.

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