Tonight the girls and I went for a nature walk... they have been watching a show about baby animals and as we gear up for a camping trip the animal craze is hitting a fevered pitch (as an example, they will both be skunks for Halloween). So we go on this nature walk and on the way I meet an old man who was a delight to speak with. For the entirety of our conversation, the girls were playing with something that I couldn't see. After about 10 minutes of playing, they come up to me with a dead baby mole in their hands -- a DEAD. BABY. MOLE. It was probably about two to three inches long. I knew it was dead because it wasn't breathing/moving, and because the mortal wound was there for all to see (and hands to touch). Meanwhile, that dear older man was sharing some spiritual experience that might have led me to talk about Christ, but I simply couldn't get over the horror of the dead mole, my two girls, and an empty bottle of Purell in the van.
I am not sure how we got everything straightened out. I do know that I officiated my first funeral and both girls prayed and sang as we buried the dead mole by the trail. Both girls prayed earnestly for God to heal the baby mole, so I felt a little bad burying it immediately following their prayers, but, I assume, if God can bring the baby mole back to life he will also be able to pull him from the two-inch deep grave.
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When moles are dead........that's a good thing! But don't tell the girls I said so!
Hello out there in the blog world. I'm Don, who wrote the previous post, and, also, the grand-dad of those two precious Dunn girls. Let me warn you about this blog and its writers. If you say something controversial, like "moles being dead is a good thing", the blog writers will have those two girls call you and try to convert you to change your position on the issue. I've had two calls from those girls reminding me how cute moles are and how I should not kill them! Just be warned!
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