Lizard love?

Thanks to the now-deaf whatever-kind-of-lizard he was who decided to hide in my dresser drawer this morning, I know what's wrong with me.

I have a syndrome. Well, now I have a syndrome AND paranoia as I wonder when and where another reptile-resembling creature will jump in my face.

Ya'll, I about died. Before I get into the deep thoughts the lizard provoked, I have to tell you what happened. I still have the shudders.

Perfectly peaceful morning - I slept great in my own bed in my finished room. I laid there till late this morning (heaven!), talked to my mom, did a load of laundry and decided to begin the process of moving my bedroom furniture from the laundry room to my bedroom. I drug the dresser with two drawers in it and got it set up.

I went back to the laundry room and grabbed the two remaining drawers that were stacked on top of each other on their sides. I carried them by their handles to my room, set them on the floor and grabbed one to put it in and came face-to-face with my intruder.

My mind exploded. I think I even saw fireworks.

I started screaming short little gasps and waving my hands by my face. Still screaming I stumbled to the bed and sat as far away from it as I could.

In the middle of screaming and shuddering and waving my hands, I thought, "God, why did you make things like that?"

Shortly after that thought, I was struck with what I've been searching for for the last 3 weeks.

My eye never left the drawer where the lizard lay, dazed and confused, I'm sure. But in the middle of me reckoning the fact that a lizard was in my house (A LIZARD WAS IN MY HOUSE!!) and the thoughts that come with that (how'd it get in? where was I when it came in? does it have babies? are there more? where?) a much calmer thought descended over me.

"I have the Get Over Here Now syndrome."

I knew it was a deep thought but I had bigger issues to deal with. The lizard - still in my house. Me - still on my bed.

I tried calling home. I knew mom was gone but maybe, just maybe the guys were in from gathering cattle. No luck.

"Somebody Get Over Here Now!"

I picked up the drawer; the little burger started right towards me. I retreated to my bed.

How do I get rid of this thing? I decided to get some fresh air but then the thought of the thing getting loose in my bedroom drove me to peek over the edge of the drawer until I saw a slithery tail.

I called Brooke. Not that she has skills in disposing of a lizard but she's good moral support. Naturally, no answer.

"Call me back," I said. "I need you to walk me through something."

So I sat there, like in many situations, alone.

The rational side of me started to take over.

"Holly, the lizard can't stay there forever."

Understood. But I don't want to deal with it. Somebody, Get Over Here Now.

It was THAT thought again and I realized it's not the first time I've heard it. There was that time on the side of the road when I'd blown up my engine.

Somebody, come to me NOW.

Or the time I thought someone had broken into the house.

Somebody, get here now.

Or the time I fell off a chair and twisted my ankle. Or the time I ran my car out of diesel. Or the time a stink bug was crawling up my leg. Or the time Jada got stepped on by a horse. Or all the times Ev's been in the hospital and we don't know what the matter is.

Mom, get here now. Please.

Somebody stronger then me, please hurry.

I don't know why I doubt myself in those situations. When life comes rolling at me way too fast or nature decides to taunt me with lizards and stink bugs, I resort to that 4-year old mindset: My mommy's gonna get you.

Only, my mommy isn't in the next room or the next street over or the next town even. There's no one to open up all the closets and make sure the monsters are gone. Or comb through the kitchen cabinets to make sure no lizard off-spring are nesting in my bowls or cups.

Nope. It's me. And while usually I like me, me is the last person I want to be with when confronted with my fears.

So the longer I sat on the bed thinking about my options which honestly didn't create that big of a spread, I felt it again.

Grace. Like rain.

I know. You're thinking, "It was a lizard. Why did you need grace?"

Um. Without grace the lizard would still be sitting in the drawer in my bedroom with maybe Saran wrap over it to keep it from coming out. Without grace I wouldn't have gone back to the laundry room and finished unpacking and moving stuff. Without grace I wouldn't have finished my laundry.

Going back a few weeks to the day when I was hyperventilating on the side of a mountain road, I knew there would be something cool to talk about later. I mean, there had to be. And I think, three weeks later, when faced with a smaller problem like a lizard in my dresser drawer, I began to realize what it was.

I have the Somebody, Get Over Here Now syndrome. And the cure for that is Grace. Like Rain.