What a Web!

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I have watched a spider weave its web and decided I’d make a lousy spider. (And that’s fine with me!)  My lack of patience and weaving skills would lead to a quick demise if I were.

Although I vehemently dislike them, I’m always fascinated to find a spider resting in the center of its amazingly intricate handiwork. I’m glad to see it positioned there so I know exactly where that eight-legged creepy crawler is, thus lessening the chances of feeling it crawl up my leg. I’m also relieved to see it before I walk into it, eliminating the jumping and swatting involved in removing the sticky strands from my face and hands. Ewwww!

But the web itself is mind-boggling. Once in a while, I’ve felt guilty for ruining the little creature’s masterpiece when I’ve run into it. Admittedly it’s not my first thought, but I do eventually feel a bit sorry. The effort put into so beautifully connecting each strand is stunning. The tiny weavers work with a definite plan in mind. Even a casual observer can immediately see an obvious pattern. There is nothing haphazard about it. Webs are beautiful, especially when caught in the sunlight or covered in frost.

That’s pretty much all I like about spiders.

But someone asked me a simple question this morning that made me think about those webs. It’s a question I’ve often been asked, but today it triggered deeper contemplation.

The question? How did you and your husband meet?

My normal answer is this: It all began in 1977 at a lock-making factory in Indianapolis.

But not today.

Today I pondered the question and came up with a more accurate answer. Our story began long before my husband’s parents welcomed a bouncing baby boy and my parents welcomed a bouncing baby girl. Our story began an eternity ago.

Our marriage came about from a spectacular plan woven by a Master Designer. The webs of our lives are enormous. Not too long ago, I sat down and tried to draw a web depicting our family heritage. I simply could not complete it beyond a few generations. I kept getting lost in the twists and turns of my diagram.

You see, two generations ago, my paternal grandparents immigrated to New York City from Sweden. They moved with many Swedes to Chicago, where my father was born. My mother is an Indiana farm girl. These two met in Indianapolis at a major downtown corporation. My dad was infatuated with the dark haired girl who sang in the company choir, and he’s hung on to her ever since. That’s just a small piece from what was to become my marriage. My husband came from Michigan. But we met when his family moved to Indianapolis.

All over the world, through hundreds of years, couples met and married from various circumstances just so God could bring that crazy skinny boy who worked in the parts crib to the attention of the young girl working in the 77K lock department. God knew the guy who didn’t merely push the cart down the aisle, but rather shoved it and jumped on for the ride, would continue to make me laugh for almost thirty-three years of marriage now. The Weaver of our lives wove the sweet web that brought us together, not by chance, but according to His perfect plan.

I could never have fathomed such intricacy. But, praise God, He’s known it and established it from before time began. In His great and loving wisdom, He prepared the strands which would bring us together.

He has a Master Plan at work. The plan affects not only my marriage, but also my day-to-day life. He continues to put me in touch with people who need me and those whom I need as well. The circumstances of each meeting fulfill His desire for my life and theirs.

So why do I fret? The happenings in my life originate with a wonderful Designer Who makes no mistakes. God knows the plan He has for me is good. He assures me of this in Jeremiah 29:11.

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil,                                          to give you an expected end.”

I find myself thinking about my special place in God’s eternal web, and I renew my desire to fulfill His purpose. I’m eternally grateful the weaving is not up to me!

Remember? I wouldn’t even be a good spider!

 

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