I stood staring at the thin barely-visible filament of a spider’s web. It stretched 15-20 feet, from the railing of our deck to a high branch on a tree.
I looked at it for a long time, thinking that there must be a metaphor here somewhere. Like the “Footprints in the Sand” poem, which illustrates how God’s presence is not always visible in our lives, I thought about that tenuous filament and how it was only visible where the morning dew had settled on it.
It was delicate, yet strong. It had an almost ethereal beauty.
“Lord,” I asked, “what is the lesson of the spider web?”
Almost on cue, our cat, Trinity, jumped up onto the railing. She began walking, as only a cat can walk, perfectly balanced on the rail. Suddenly she stopped at swatted at something.
A little further on, she made herself comfortable and looked at me rather smugly.
She had swatted my spider filament away.
I laughed out loud.
“Okay, Lord,” I said. “I think I get it.”
God doesn’t want us to put our faith in the beautiful but tenuous. It may seem cool or artsy to find Him there, but He’s so much more than a spider strand coated with dew.
God is a rock, a fortress, an ever-present help in time of need. There’s nothing spider-webby about Him.
I’m thankful today for my cat that God uses to teach me lessons.