God Is Talking

When I get sucked into painful news about all the missing and abused children and young women, Sammy turns her back to the television, runs back to the bedroom, and encourages me to get in touch with my inner iguana and just come enjoy the moment with her already. She encourages me by acting as if she is about to impale herself on the nightstand from a precarious grip on the bedpost that she has just slid down, much like a child on a banister. Yet she waits for me to “rescue” her by picking her up or letting her climb my arms or her turtle buddy. She waits for me with her hands on the nightstand and her head tilted, smiling at me. This has come to be known as “The Game”, as Sammy does it over and over and appears bright green and even more smiley than usual while participating. She grasps at the wall behind our bed, pretending to fall but looking more like she is doing aerobics, until we come and save her from herself. I love to hold her while she sits on her turtle buddy all sprawled out with her bright green belly looking especially plump. She looks happy, tilting her head from side to side as I carry her and her buddy all around the downstairs level. She is comical and gentle all at once, and I feel the stress of the day evaporate. I cannot seem to get enough of her hugs and kisses. Sometimes when we are playing, my snuggly Sammy will stop mid-climb and put her arms around my neck, nuzzle my chin, and lick my cheek. Interacting with her is a panacea for any day’s stress. On Mother’s Day in 2013, Sammy suddenly paused during playtime, placed her hands on my chest, tilted her head, and looked deeply into my eyes. I felt like the luckiest iguana mama in the world.

One summer evening, I was changing out of my work clothes; I put on some shorts and closed the closet door. I heard what sounded like a hanger falling inside the closet. I opened the door and met the smiling gaze of my green girlfriend sitting in my laundry basket, her hand scratching the door. I had thought that she was back in her enclosure; Zak had just stepped out of the bedroom and he said that she was on the bed when he walked out. Silly Sammy! She seemed very pleased with herself. We both kissed her quite a bit; we were so amused. The next day, she was admiring herself in the mirror when Zak began reminding her of her time in the laundry basket. She immediately walked over to the basket! On other occasions, she has jumped inside the laundry basket and turned very bright green as I carried the basket of lizard up the stairs for a change of her playtime scenery. Sammy has been known to help me with the laundry on many occasions. Her help consists, of course, of walking through the pile of clothes as I fold them, and sitting on some items for such a long time that I have to nuzzle her to get at them. I simply cannot imagine a better helper.

We think that Sammy watches us with a curiosity about us humans’ fast pace and focus on work over play. It is probably impossible for her to believe that anything could be important enough to rush around for every day. And when you think about it, it is hard to argue with her. Are we really supposed to be rushing through life checking things off lists, with an inbox that will never be empty? Sammy might say, “Why don’t you just zone out in your hammock all day?” As she rests on my shoulder, her tail dangling between my arm and my side and her foot cradled in my hand, I bury my face in her sweet aroma and I think, “Reverence for God adds hours to each day.” Sometimes we do need to slow down and enjoy the process. If we believe in an eternity, then it seems we were made to enjoy the process. It can’t all be about outcomes or finishing our lists. If it were, eternity would have an end.

“I know that there is nothing better for men than to be happy and do good while they live. That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil—this is the gift of God.” Sammy has taught me that there is more time to play than I had once thought possible. I think that I had almost believed that being relaxed was a guilty pleasure, as if feeling good was a warning that something was wrong or misguided. For years, this belief had masqueraded as its seemingly more benign cousin, perfectionism. Perfectionism is driven, of course, by fear. It has been difficult for me to make time to do the things I really enjoy like writing. I had thought that I needed to get everything “more important” done first. Now, I am starting to see that our inbox is never empty, and we are doing good just to keep everything we juggle in the air. Sammy has no place to be and she makes no qualms about it. Notice that guilt and shame were not on her emotion list. Animals seem to have a simple trust that God will take our smallest efforts and create something so beautiful that none of us could even handle a direct glimpse of it.

Perhaps my lazy languid lizard is really quite busy calling my bluff on distractions like time pressure, workaholism, perfectionism, self-consciousness, and—underneath it all—fear. Of course we are afraid to bare our souls in this world. When I write, it feels like I am exposing my bare naked soul with full awareness that some can and will trample on it. It will hurt. But what will hurt even more is if no one pays it any mind at all. Rejection stings. We could all be amazing artists if only we could let go of the self-consciousness that holds us back. The more I counsel, teach, and write, the more I feel drawn to dig deep and share what touches my heart. It is then that I often experience the feeling of the Holy Spirit, and I just know that I am right where I am supposed to be.

In any case, my life with Sammy is making me ask questions. The more questions I ask, the more I seek a relationship with God. I find that the Sabbath tradition helps us listen for God in many ways. In our playtime sessions with the green girl, we rest and celebrate life. We embrace a process of life that is not linear. Sammy really is an ambassador in the true sense of that word. She teaches us that if we cannot set aside a whole day every week, even an hour will give us many blessings. We might discover that when we make this time, we no longer feel stuck on that writing project, we know what to say to that client, or we have an idea for a friend. Most importantly, we stop having unrealistic expectations for ourselves and for others when we realize the unconditional love of God. As I write, I find myself being pulled into the light, and hope is renewed.