“The spider stays.”
I hate spiders.
There are other creepy crawlers I can tolerate, but this is not a favorable one of God’s creations in my eyes. Maybe it’s the plethora of legs or their stance or their speed. Perhaps a combination of all of the above.
I’m actually good with Daddy Longlegs. They’re a less intense color, seem slower and more docile… and we as kids used to pull their legs off to watch them twitch. Good times; much nostalgia.
All bets are off for the other spiders if I catch a glimpse of them. If I lose sight of them… World War III till I find and eliminate them. Ideally, my husband sees and takes care of them before they hit my radar.
Last night, my husband and I had a particularly interesting conversation.
But let me take a step back in time first…
Days earlier, when I was up getting ready for work, around 5:00 AM (before sunrise), I noticed our motion-sensing floodlight was on. It illuminates the backyard, primarily since we have three dogs.
The fact that everyone but me—including the dogs—was asleep and the light came on was weird, but I didn’t have the time or feel the need to spend the effort to see why.
Investigating could mean coming face-to-face with an uninvited backyard guest, and I didn’t want to open that can of—well, you get the point. I figured it was one of the stray cats that often prowls our neighborhood, or a field mouse from the woods behind our house. It could have been a snake or a bobcat too.
Point being, I didn’t want to know.
Turns out, a spider decided the corner between our floodlight and the siding of the house behind it would make a lovely new home. It crafted an elaborate web, so each time the web flitted in the wind, the floodlight would come on at night.
That’s when my husband declared the spider would be staying.
I wasn’t excited about the prospect until I fully understood why.
The floodlight is by our back door, which opens to the backyard. With three dogs, we’re constantly going in and out. Flies love to sneak in, as do other creatures.
When my husband observed the spider’s ornate new home, there were already hundreds of bugs collected there. The web is so big now, I don’t doubt it’ll catch our most uninvited of all houseguests: flies.
When I grasped why the spider would be staying, I agreed.
Then my husband said, “If it [the spider] gets inside, it’s dead.”
Deal!
We have this unspoken rule that any creepy crawler or not-so-fantastic flier that gets in the house signs its death sentence, so this commitment was in full alignment.
This got me thinking:
If the spider does its job, what it was made for, it lives.
If it fails to perform, or gets off track, it dies.
Thankfully, for many of us, our job, role, or tasks don’t involve life-or-death scenarios.
But the concept fits:
If we do what we're meant to do, we live. Like, really live. We feel alive and empowered. We can't believe we get paid to do this.
If we don't do what we're meant to do—or haven't found it yet—it can be detrimental.
For those who’ve found that thing they’re meant to do, bravo!
For those still browsing, that’s fantastic—as long as they’re still searching, not hanging out on the lazy river of life.
So the spider stays.
And I'm working on staying too.
If you want more stories like this, subscribe below. No noise, just writing that means something.
And if this piece stuck with you, share it with someone who might need it too.
Hi Jess! What a great analogy! Thx for sharing and writing.