Although the web didn't seem too beautiful when I almost ran face-first into the center of it, as I jumped back into the doorway I was quickly attentive to a big, colorful, spider and mounted in the center of a beautiful, HUGE web. It glistened in the light of my cheap white light bulb, and rocked gently in the breeze off the man-made pond. Super classy for a spider, of course.
I couldn't bring myself to break it, so I ducked underneath it as I let the dog out and walked her around the corner to do her business.
I ducked under that web for two days until I felt like things were getting a little ridiculous; I finally caved and pulled one tiny strand of the web (one that appeared to be a major anchor) and guided it into the others. The web collapsed on itself, yet the spider was no where to be seen.
I felt a twinge of guilt for ruining such a beautiful creation, but after all, it was a spider!
Not a big deal, Jenna. Get it together!
That night, I went to take my dog back outside and realized that the big spider was well to work again, carefully weaving a brilliant pattern with his web, re-building the home I intentionally destroyed. As I sat and watched, I realized I couldn't bring myself to tear that web down again. So I ducked low and crawled underneath as Hadley ran off to do her business.
This morning, after weeks of this pattern, I sat on my little patio with my Honey Nut Cheerios and my babygirl (dog), and pondered that web which was there last night, and no longer there this morning.
Why is it that this big spider chose my porch of all places? Why is it that day after day and night after night, this spider chose to RE-build that web over and over again? Carefully, meticulously rebuilding that which was destroyed. The same pattern, the same anchors, the same height from the ground.
Does there come a time when the spider knows that it's time for him to move on? I'm not going to give up, no matter how beautiful that web is.
Does there come a time when the spider gives up on his gloriously large and ornate webs and is satisfied with something a little more out of the way, a little less flashy? It could be strung with gold and I'm pretty sure I still wouldn't want to run into it at night.
Does there come a time when weaving webs loses it's appeal? Perhaps Mr. Spider should consider...a dam. Or a cave. Anywhere, really, as long as it's not my patio!
Sometimes I wonder how much I am like that spider, and how much I am like the person tearing down the web (substitute: dream, self-esteem, comfort, confidence, safe place, etc). I wonder if building my own little web will ever become such a burden that I finally decide to move locations. Am I so tied to my man-made pond and the big, loud fountain that I doom myself to monotony? How many times will I miss out on the adventure of trying and experiencing something new because "that cheap white light just makes everything look so stinkin' good!!"? Is the lighting really better on the other side? Will I ever give up all the extra *stuff* I place carefully around me to make me for comfortable when I finally realize that I can't take any of it with me?
I'm not really a huge fan of spiders, but I can see beauty in their work.
I still don't want them living on my patio, but I think there is something to be learned here.
Matthew 6:19-21: 19 “Stop collecting treasures for your own
benefit on earth, where moth and rust eat them and where thieves break in and
steal them. 20 Instead, collect treasures for yourselves in heaven, where moth
and rust don’t eat them and where thieves don’t break in and steal them. 21
Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
As children of God, we are called to do so much more than
build webs. In fact, I think that had Jesus been a spider, and we were all
spiders, he would call us away from our webs daily.
"Dude! Leave that web behind! We'll get our flies
another way and trust God for our safety. Just do your best to trust me to take
care of you instead of relying on your own handiwork. Your web is nothing
compared to my creation"
***
And so we would leave our webs of comfort and our
personally-made stores of things that make us feel good and safe and venture
out into the world where our webs don't mean much anymore because value isn't
drawn from them.
But let's be real...I love my web, and I love my porch. I
love surrounding myself with things that make me feel good because sometimes I
can convince myself it's all necessary to "make me better at my job."
What a joke.
I think I'm more like that spider than I'd like to admit.
I'm not ready to leave my web just yet, but I think perhaps this is a new seed
that has been planted in my heart--something to strive for.
Strive indeed.
What an adventure, this messy and beautiful life is!
(Though I could live without that real spider on my porch.
For real.)
