We put Fluffy the bunny to sleep this week.

Fluffy had been a part of our household for nearly eight years — a prodigious life span, as rabbits go. But recently she had lost motor control over the rear half of her little body, leaving her unable to get around on her own or control her elimination functions. Our veterinarian believed that an abscess in Fluffy’s jaw that required surgery some time ago had permitted an infection to reach and cripple her tiny brain.

Though Fluffy remained in good appetite and did not seem to be in severe pain, both the vet and we agreed that it would be inhumane to keep her in this condition, given her advanced age and the fact that no treatment would improve her debilitation or halt its inevitable progress. Thus, with tears and resignation, we asked the doctor to end Fluffy’s suffering.

In her own furry little way, Fluffy was like the gourd vine under which the prophet Jonah sat as he awaited the judgment of God against the city of Nineveh. The weather was hot, and the Assyrian sun glared down upon Jonah’s head until God raised up a plant (some translations identify it as a gourd vine, though the actual kind of plant referenced is not certain) to provide Jonah cooling shade. The shadow of the plant was a welcome respite from the burning heat, and Jonah was grateful for it.

But then another day dawned, and a worm infested the plant and damaged it, causing it to wither and die. With the plant no longer providing its shelter, Jonah sat exposed to the hot sirocco that blew in over the Persian desert to the east, and to the pitiless rays of the sun.

Jonah was incensed. “Better to die than to live,” he complained, furious because the wonderful plant that had given him such comfort was gone. “It is right for me to be angry,” the prophet cried out to the Lord, “even to death!”

Then God reminded Jonah of something the impetuous prophet had forgotten. Jonah had done nothing to create the plant; God willed, and there it was. In the same way, when God willed the plant to die, it died — again, without Jonah being in any way responsible. God rules: that was the lesson. If it pleased God to give Jonah a gourd vine for shelter, God be praised; if it pleased God to take the vine away, so be it. And, extending the metaphor, if it pleased God to relent and spare the city whose destruction Jonah had foretold, because its people repented, who was Jonah to argue?

We enjoy many precious comforts in life. For our family, Fluffy the bunny was one such comfort. Our daughter Kayla, now thirteen, can hardly remember a time when Fluffy was not there to be held and cuddled, told secrets and cried on. In the dark days when Kayla’s mother was undergoing chemotherapy, Fluffy was always good for a hug. The little gray rabbit was, like Jonah’s vine, Kayla’s shelter from the heat of life’s harsh realities and a refuge in desperate and scary hours.

And now, like Jonah’s vine, she is gone.

Longsuffering Job had it right, of course: “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21). But how often do we take delight in the things of life, and pat ourselves on the back as though we somehow were responsible for them, rather than glorifying the Father of lights, from whose hand comes every good gift (James 1:17)? And how often, when the pleasures of this material existence fail — perhaps we’ve lost a job, or a loved one — do we rail in anger against God, rather than acknowledging that what is His to give is His to take again? Ought we not to praise Him and give Him thanks for the time we enjoyed the blessing, instead of being wrathful because the blessing has finished His purpose?

I thank God that Kayla enjoyed Fluffy’s “shade” all these years. And I pray that we remember always to be grateful for God’s gifts, in their moment and after. Amazing, isn’t it, the lessons He teaches us in the subtlest of ways?