Day Seventy-Five “Spider Webs”
Nothing can strike panic into this woman’s heart more than its appearance, as this evil creature lurks in the dark corners of my basement, lying-in-wait for this helpless damsel as she goes about her Monday morning laundry chores. And somehow this dreaded being has the mystical ability to appear ten times larger than its actual size! Call it a phobia, call it silliness, but once this creepy, dastardly spider comes on the scene, my response is consistent: high-pitched screams, abandonment of anything held in my arms, and a graceful leap onto the nearest piece of furniture, where I will remain, paralyzed by fear, until rescued by my knight in shining armor.
I hold no fondness for spiders, and would personally be overjoyed if they were wiped off of the planet by some universal spider pandemic, but I am in awe of their webs. I love strolling through my backyard at daybreak, while the dew is still able to cling to those intricate masterpieces, highlighting the elaborate patterns and designs. Spiders produce silk from structures called spinnerets, which are glands located on the base of their ugly, little abdomens. The typical garden spiders found on my property weave a delicate, circular, spoked web, the types often associated with Halloween and storybooks. After the thin lines of silk are firmly in place, the spider adds sticky lines that will eventually entrap any flying insects on the web. And soon, presto, spider dinner! If it weren’t so creepy, it would be amazing.
Those webs are beautiful, but one swipe of my hand, one swoosh of my Swiffer duster, one encounter with my vacuum, would destroy it; it is fragile. So is any future hope for the godless, as fragile as a spider’s web, or reeds when the water is removed from their roots, it cannot endure the test of time. “Can the rush grow up without the mire? can the flag grow without water…whose hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall be a spider’s web.” These are the words penned by Job, a man standing deep in the valley of suffering, but a man whose hope was still anchored upon his God. Job understood that he was not as one who “shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand,” for Job’s faith was not dependent on his circumstances, but firmly rooted in the God of the universe. He may have been bruised, but he will stand!
My hope is “sure and stedfast,” just as Job’s, anchored upon God and His Word. This hope I have, this expectation of fulfillment, is built upon the Rock of Ages, not a fragile web doomed for destruction. “Heaven and earth shall pass away…” but not His Word, EVER! My faith is built on nothing less, than Jesus blood and righteousness; I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus name, and nothing is stronger or more beautiful than that. Thanks for the object lesson, you creepy little spider!
Job 8:13,14 So are the paths of all that forget God;…Whose hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall be a spider’s web.
Thank You for the hope that is anchored and fixed, settled forever in Your Word. Amen!
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