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Last week I was out for one of my neighborhood runs on an exceptionally hot and humid day in Nashville. I was about 20 minutes into my route when I noticed the oddest thing on the sidewalk. At first glance it looked like a dead baby alligator, except I know we don't have alligators in Nashville, so I downgraded my assessment to a lizard of some sort. It was at least nine inches long and had sizeable legs. I thought maybe it could have been someone's pet iguana that had escaped from its cage. Or maybe it really was just a plain Nashville lizard. I'm not very educated in these areas.

The really bizarre thing is that its head was stuck in a Dr. Pepper can. My best theory is that the glistening drops of sugary water lured him or her in on a hot summer's day—the same reason we all love a good Dr. Pepper. The poor little thing had worked so hard to wedge its head in there that it couldn't get it back out while it sadly suffocated in the smothering heat, the kind of heat that can only be experienced inside a soda can during a Nashville summer.

The only reason I know all this is because I picked up the end of the mildly crushed can so I could see its head, and his body just hung there. As I stood there staring at this peculiar sight, I thought of the many times I had discovered a few drops that I thought were sure to offer life. They were sugary sweet and went down smooth. Sadly—and I do mean very, very sadly—in the end they left me more thirsty and desperate than ever before, craving what could never satisfy.

I suppose the most frustrating thing is that there are a million Dr. Pepper cans along the way that continually tempt us with their seemingly immediate ability to quench our thirst. I recall many situations in my own life when I wedged myself into something that I was convinced would bring relief from the scorching heat but left me suffocating instead. How easy these places were to walk into, but how nearly impossible to back out of.

The lizard and the Dr. Pepper can spoke to me of something that none of us can escape: a desire for refuge, a need for relief, water for our hearts and souls. The tricky part is where we choose to be satisfied. The lizard chose a deathtrap. A deceptive offer. A lie.

From everything I understand Scripture to reveal, there is only one Source of satisfaction: "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights" (James 1:17, NKJV). God is the author of all good gifts—relationships, food, pleasures, family, summer night skies, melodies, a million other graces. He uses a colorful palette to satisfy, though none are as great as him.

In Genesis 15:1 (NIV), God comforts and blesses Abraham by telling him, "I am … your very great reward." Verse two always strikes me as oddly humorous when Abraham responds, "O Sovereign Lord, what can you give me?" In essence he is saying, "I'm glad you're my reward, but seriously now, what are you going to give me?" Well, God says he'll bless Abraham with children and make him into a great nation, but he begins by revealing himself as fully sufficient apart from what he offers.

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