The Green Iguana That Wasn’t—or Was It?

I saw it from the corner of my eye—a flash of green, the quick scuttle of tiny claws against dirt. It moved like a whisper, slipping through the backyard shadows, vanishing before I could catch a full glimpse. I swore I’d seen a green iguana. Here? In this part of Texas?

More likely, I concluded, it was one of the feral cats that hang out in our neighborhood backyards, their sleek bodies low to the ground, eyes sharp focused on survival. My mind holds onto the iguana. The thought of it lingers longer than it should. I know it isn’t real. Was it? The image of that emerald creature won’t let me go.

Perhaps it’s the way my life has felt lately—like something just outside my vision, just beyond my grasp. A shift in the air, a movement along the edges. Change, renewal, something waiting to be recognized.

You may not know, but iguanas are ancient creatures, prehistoric even, their spiny backs reminiscent of something from of another time. Iguanas are creatures of warmth, stillness, and vigilance. They soak in the sun, their bodies absorbing light and warmth, biding their time. They do not hurry. They do not chase. They wait. Patiently.

How often do I do that? Sit. Absorb. Wait.

The world rushes past in a blur—deadlines, expectations, obligations. The constant scurry of doing. The green iguana, real or imagined, reminds me that some things are not meant to be chased. Some things can’t be rushed. Some things come in their own time. Growth. Healing. Clarity.

And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost as well as the skins. But new wine is for fresh wineskins.

Mark 2:22 HCSB

And then there’s the shedding—iguanas molt in pieces, their old skin flakes away to reveal something fresh underneath. Iguanas don’t shed all at once, but in slow, uneven patches. Their transformation of putting off the old to take on something new is a gradual process. Transformation is rarely instant; newness often comes in fragments.

I think of the things I have shed over the years—job titles, places, people. While some fell away easily, others clung like a second skin, refusing to let go. With each of life’s seasons, I step into something new. Today is such a day. It’s a time of stepping out of something old into something new.