What Charlotte knew
I hate spiders with the fire of a thousand suns.
Nevertheless, I can still recognize that they are fascinating creatures with amazing abilities. God was having a supremely creative moment when He designed spiders, albeit a creepy one.
I remember watching a spider weave a web on the front porch of my aunts’ house when I was a kid. It was fascinating to watch it drop down on a thin line of webbing finer than baby hair, dangling and bobbing, and then climbing and weaving.
I don’t know how that fragile-looking little silver strand supported the weight of that fat little spider swinging on the end.
But it not only supported that spider, once woven into a web it became a strong trap for much larger and more powerful insects. It was too strong for them to fly through, and once they touched it the stickiness of the webbing wouldn’t let them go. Voila! Spider lunch!
So often hope feels like that bit of spider silk. Impossibly thin and frail…how could it ever hold up under pressure? I feel the strain as it’s stretched…and stretched…and stretched far beyond what I ever thought it could bear. Even when it’s frayed and frazzled, even when it appears dim and without breath and I am sure that this time it will surely quietly slip away in the night, somehow it remains.
Hope may be delicate and easily bruised, but it’s very difficult to utterly destroy.
And like a strand of spider web, it’s sticky. You can try to shake it off and walk away, but good luck with that. You think you can abandon it, but it has no intention of abandoning you.