For
the past week, I have been having the same conversation with a
spider attached to the rain barrel, garden sink and shed. Like a parent to a teenager with a messy room,
my reiterated words don't seem to be making much of a difference. But I'm not
asking my eight-legged friend to clean her room; I'm asking her to move it.
Every morning on my way to the sink to fill my watering can I have to clear the nearly invisible strands of her web. The problem (besides having to brush the spider web off of myself) is that it is a vital piece of her web. They are the strands of webbing that serves as an anchor for her well-crafted house. I’ve tried in my own way to reroute and wipe it out but though this solves my sticky situation, it does not solve hers. If I haven't caused her residence to collapse by swiping through it, I have demolished her dwelling by pulling away with its support beam attached to my shirt. She invariably will anchor her brilliant masterwork to the entire wash sink or facets or side of the shed the next night,
I have tried to be patient. I feel really bad as I tear away knowing that I have entirely destroyed her night's work before I have even taken my morning nourishment. I have reminded her that anchoring her web to an object that is inconvenient for me is futile (and no doubt incredibly frustrating to the architect). Yet so it goes each day. I swipe away, and she finds herself needing to rebuild once again.
When Jesus spoke of well-built houses, it is interesting that he made it a point to point out the obvious. Build a house on shifting sands and it, too, will shift until it is completely destroyed. The illustration is as clear as it is true; a house is only as good as its foundation.
I’m thinking that the poor, persistent spider on my shed would have learned her lesson by now. But in fact she has only slightly altered her house plans each time—attaching her web to a different part of the features used each morning. I can only hope one day she will learn. But then, Jesus's obvious words confront me, and I find myself wondering: Have I learned?
When I build my life around pursuits that suddenly shift, do I pick up and redraw the plans, taking into account all that shifted? Or do I simply pick myself up, cut my losses, and start once again? When my longing for another vehicle gives me a payment I can't afford, when my hope for the next best thing is ever being replaced by the next best thing, when I have built my life upon the satisfaction of a successful profession, ministry, a solid marriage or great kids or “smart as a whip” grandchildren and suddenly life shifts with blow of uncertainty, what have I learned?
It is a lesson easier illustrated than understood. For more often it seems I am like the spider, intent on making my dream house work, willing to alter my plans only slightly, concerning myself with the busywork of building. It is easy to be so determined in the life I continue to construct that a shifting foundation is viewed merely as a temporary set back, when in fact I’m building my life upon that which is temporary—health, retirement, nice comfortable home in Florida and little cabin in North Carolina.
Thankfully, my God described by my Bible is not only more patient than I have been with my spider, but also more compelling than I have been encouraging those things God longs to see in the security of a well-built home. With long-suffering love for me, God picks me up when my dream life crumbles and shows me that I am meant to dream of unshakable fortresses. Christ stands at ground zero and gives me the grace and the strength to rebuild.
I am building well, He says, when I hear His words and put them into practice. For to build on the enduring words of God in Christ by the Holy Spirit is to build and complete my life that model my Creator, trusting that God is the holder of the best plans for my house.
Every morning on my way to the sink to fill my watering can I have to clear the nearly invisible strands of her web. The problem (besides having to brush the spider web off of myself) is that it is a vital piece of her web. They are the strands of webbing that serves as an anchor for her well-crafted house. I’ve tried in my own way to reroute and wipe it out but though this solves my sticky situation, it does not solve hers. If I haven't caused her residence to collapse by swiping through it, I have demolished her dwelling by pulling away with its support beam attached to my shirt. She invariably will anchor her brilliant masterwork to the entire wash sink or facets or side of the shed the next night,
I have tried to be patient. I feel really bad as I tear away knowing that I have entirely destroyed her night's work before I have even taken my morning nourishment. I have reminded her that anchoring her web to an object that is inconvenient for me is futile (and no doubt incredibly frustrating to the architect). Yet so it goes each day. I swipe away, and she finds herself needing to rebuild once again.
When Jesus spoke of well-built houses, it is interesting that he made it a point to point out the obvious. Build a house on shifting sands and it, too, will shift until it is completely destroyed. The illustration is as clear as it is true; a house is only as good as its foundation.
I’m thinking that the poor, persistent spider on my shed would have learned her lesson by now. But in fact she has only slightly altered her house plans each time—attaching her web to a different part of the features used each morning. I can only hope one day she will learn. But then, Jesus's obvious words confront me, and I find myself wondering: Have I learned?
When I build my life around pursuits that suddenly shift, do I pick up and redraw the plans, taking into account all that shifted? Or do I simply pick myself up, cut my losses, and start once again? When my longing for another vehicle gives me a payment I can't afford, when my hope for the next best thing is ever being replaced by the next best thing, when I have built my life upon the satisfaction of a successful profession, ministry, a solid marriage or great kids or “smart as a whip” grandchildren and suddenly life shifts with blow of uncertainty, what have I learned?
It is a lesson easier illustrated than understood. For more often it seems I am like the spider, intent on making my dream house work, willing to alter my plans only slightly, concerning myself with the busywork of building. It is easy to be so determined in the life I continue to construct that a shifting foundation is viewed merely as a temporary set back, when in fact I’m building my life upon that which is temporary—health, retirement, nice comfortable home in Florida and little cabin in North Carolina.
Thankfully, my God described by my Bible is not only more patient than I have been with my spider, but also more compelling than I have been encouraging those things God longs to see in the security of a well-built home. With long-suffering love for me, God picks me up when my dream life crumbles and shows me that I am meant to dream of unshakable fortresses. Christ stands at ground zero and gives me the grace and the strength to rebuild.
I am building well, He says, when I hear His words and put them into practice. For to build on the enduring words of God in Christ by the Holy Spirit is to build and complete my life that model my Creator, trusting that God is the holder of the best plans for my house.
Father, God, Your words are like your character - lighting my way,
standing forever, moving me to that place of refuge. Father, You "do not
change like the shifting shadows!" You are, as David praised, Hannah
prayed, the saints found and I will continue to discover somewhere in the process of
rebuilding, the Rock of Ages, the Rock higher than I and never fails. Amen
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