In her book, A Gift From the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindberg writes about a cabin where she spent a summer on a beach. She notes that among the rafters there were spider webs which she didn't care to brush away. I suspect that, to Anne, leaving them there was a quiet act of rebellion against the expectations pressed upon women. Oddly, since reading her thoughts, I've been resistant to bothering most spiders, especially the common residents who hang around my house.
In one corner, for quite some time now, there lives a Daddy-long-legs who has aptly produced multiple generations of offspring. The spider hangs quietly out of my way, but in a very obvious place, so I have gotten to observe its behavior several times each day. I notice that it has done a fine job of reducing the population of little creepies that love to hide in the cabinets and drawers. I don't mind sweeping up, and I'm always careful not to damage the nearly invisible strands of netting with which the spider harvests its dinner.
So it was a big surprise one day when I walked into the room and discovered my roommate down on the counter eating a potato chip. I'm not sure what the spider was thinking, and I certainly never knew one to have a picnic. But within the day it finished off the chip and returned to its acrobatic world up near the ceiling. I confess that, since this revelation, I've been tempted to leave Fritos and bits of tacos nearby, just to see if they appeal. It's rather exciting to think that we might have something in common. After all, I love chips and tacos so we're practically buddies.
One more reason to live and let live. And this, of course, makes me consider my work as a Franciscan. I'm not asking people to like spiders. Rather, I want people to consider how often (and how easily) we draw assumptions about our world that we haven't given any consideration to. If we say "Spiders are bad..." and leave it at that, then it isn't a long leap to saying "People are bad..." while we stare at someone who dresses differently, or wears their hair differently, or collects body art, or likes a different style of music. We all do it. But what would happen if we deliberately choose to do it less? What if we choose to approach each day with wonder, with a wide-open expectation of being surprised somehow, somewhere along the way?
Wonders really never cease--it's one of God's favorite ways of teaching us. A spider who eats potato chips. A bird who swims in the rain-gutter. Compost that steams beneath the fruit trees. A warm-blooded human person who reaches over and grasps your hand.
The world is packed with wonders. Take time to see, hear, watch and feel them. Before long, you will begin to notice wonderful new things about God. And why not? God created the world so that we can find him in it.
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