A Lizard Tale

I felt very unhappy when I opened a rarely-used closet door and found it has been heavily used as a toilet for geckos. One of the perpetrators was still in the closet and narrowly escaped death. Disgusted, I cleaned up the months-old mess and told my son that he will receive 1 cedi (25 cents) for every gecko he kills.

Only a day later, I heard Tyler in the compound calling, "Mom! Come see this lizard!" The tone of his voice hastened my steps. This was not going to be a gecko, and suddenly I felt thankful that the critters in my closets are only four inch reptiles.

Huddled angrily by the side of the porch was a monitor lizard. Though small for his kind, he was over two feet long from nose to tail. His forked, snake-like tongue flicked in and out whenever our dog ventured too close. Its forked tongue did not flick at me; I wisely kept my distance.

Our dog, bless her, is not known for her bravery. She wanted to get a solid bite of lizard meat, but leaped backwards every time the lizard switched its long tail. Obviously things would have been at a stalemate with just the dog and me hovering nervously around an exhausted monitor lizard. It was fortunate, then, that John was home and man enough to pitch the critter into the bush area across the road. A neighbor will be happy to find it, for Ghanaians eat monitor lizards. I ate them, too, when I was served roasted lizard legs in a village, claws and leathery skin still intact. But this time, I was glad I was under no obligation to cook it for lunch.

Friends had other ideas: "I decided to look up how much one of those monitor lizard pets would sell for here in the States - from $35 up to over $1000! You might have a business."

And then again, maybe not.

A God Who Speaks

I was searching through my documents and ran across this one from two years ago that I had forgotten about.“God is a speaking God,” the preacher said one Sunday morning.“He still speaks today, but the problem is that a lot of times we aren’t listening for His voice.” The message included several mediums God uses to speak to us. One of them is our children.

It wasn’t one of my better moments. The day was going all wrong and I didn’t feel like I was handling it well. There is some truth in the old adage, “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” for my preschool children weren’t having a good day, either. They seemed restless and bored. I was exhausted and not proactive enough to remedy their boredom.

When I finally got to my supper dishes, I heard the children get into a theological conversation, initiated by my firstborn.

“Who are you going to obey, Sister? God or Satan.”

“I’m going to obey God. Is that a good choice?” Her voice was so little and cute that I smiled slightly in spite of myself.

From his five-year-old wealth of wisdom, he answered that it definitely was good thinking, then turned to me. “Mom, whose voice are you going to listen to?”

I felt almost ashamed to say, “God.” How could I when I was feeling frustrated instead of joyful, and had been lugging the cares of my day around on tight and tense shoulders instead of rolling them onto His capable ones?

“God.” I said, rebuked.

The children turned away and I turned back to my dishes, realizing this was more than a childish conversation. It was God speaking to me through my children. And I chose to listen.