Lizard Glory

I remember the day I found a small lizard in my bathtub. (Those little guys are common in Florida where I live.) Not wanting to share this private space with a reptile, I grabbed a small hand towel and set out to capture and relocate him outside.

Mr. Lizard, however, wanted no part of this. He scurried as quickly as he could to elude me while I did my best to scoop him up. This went on for a few minutes until finally I was victorious. To the front yard we went, where I shook the towel gently and watched him run off to explore and find some companions.

Could this be what death is like?

Living here on Earth I’m like a lizard in a bathtub in some ways. My surroundings are tolerable, but not at all ideal. My deepest desires – those in my heart – go unfulfilled. There’s an emptiness and scarcity of basic needs.

One day a hand comes to pluck me out. I fight against it, but it inevitably wins. Only then do I find that I’m transported to a place that was made for my kind, where I can be free, fully commune with kindred spirits, and experience greater joy than I ever imagined back in my former state.

I understand why that lizard avoided my good intentions. I’m not anxious to change my location any time soon either. But when I do, I have hope that the new digs will be as big an improvement from the old ones as his were.

(NOTE: Throughout this post I have used the term “he” in the generic sense.  I did not check the gender of the lizard.)



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One Response to Lizard Glory

  1. Alan W. says:

    J. M. Barrie once described death as “an awfully big adventure.” Like the lizard in the bathtub, we cling to our imperfect world even as we speculate about what adventure awaits us in the afterlife. “After I die, what?” remains an elusive topic. Even if answers are currently unavailable, through such reflections God leads me to a serious consideration of a more pressing question: “Before I die, what?”

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