I was swimming in the pool when I decided to stop for a minute and sit on the little bench in the back.
I was staring at the plants when this baby lizard appeared. I mean, a teeny little lizard.
He and I just stared at each other for a while. He was chilling. I was chilling.
Eventually, I started swimming again. When I came back, he was still there. Then he jumped onto the tree, and suddenly I could barely see him. His skin was almost the exact same khaki color as the bark. For a little while, he practically disappeared.
Then he climbed back onto one of the big green leaves, and there he was again.
I took a picture. I took a little video.
And then I realized something: I was pretty sure I’d seen this little guy last week.
This teeny little lizard had been out here, living in this jungle of a backyard. Surviving. Finding his leaves. Finding his trees. Camouflaging himself when he needed to. Moving when he needed to. Resting when he needed to.
And I thought, if this tiny little lizard can survive in this enormous world, I can survive too.
God is big. I am small.
I’m like that little lizard on the big leaf. A little ant in God’s enormous world. And maybe remembering how small I am doesn’t have to make me feel insignificant. Maybe it can make me feel protected.
Because this is not the end of the world for me. It can be the beginning of a new world.
I need to remember that when I’m really sad. When I feel like I have nothing. When I start wondering how in the hell I’m supposed to do this without Casey.
Her spirit is constant. I feel it more now than ever, and she’s still here. She doesn’t even have to be in the room for me to feel her.
Maybe that’s part of what I’m being shown.
Casey has done huge things on this Earth. Things I haven’t even done yet.
And maybe now I’m ready to do them.
There is a part of me that knows I have to let her go when it is time. I have to let God take her wherever she needs to go next. I have to trust that her journey is bigger than what I can see from where I’m standing.
Just like that little lizard probably has absolutely no idea how enormous this backyard is.
He just knows the leaf underneath him.
Maybe that’s all I need to know right now, too.
I don’t need to understand the whole world without Casey. I don’t need to understand the rest of my life.
I just need to trust the leaf underneath me.
Trust God.
Trust Casey.
Trust myself.
And have faith that I am going to be okay without her physically beside me.
And that is some scary-ass shit.
But I can do it.
The little lizard reminded me.
