My mailbox has been under attack for awhile.
We’ve had a spider building a web every single day from an interior corner of our house to the edge of the mailbox, a mailbox that is screwed into the exterior wall and unlikely to go anywhere until we, like most of our city, has to give up our door-to-door service in favour of a community thingamabob sometime later this year.
Most days I remove the web because, well, webs are icky. I’ve had a thing about the filmy material against my skin from the time I was a small girl, and while I am perfectly capable of appreciating the intricacies of how a spider builds such a thing, I’m not a fan. I’m just not, unless they’re in the woods with sunlight highlighting the pattern. Then I think they’re awesome.
The routine goes a bit like this. I take the web down (and any of the creatures that come with it). The next day, the spider quietly rebuilds it. I take it down. She confidently rebuilds it.
While I’m not crazy about the spider, I’m somewhat enamoured with her tenacity.
Then recently, this verse came across my news feed.
“In quietness and confidence is your strength.” Isaiah 30:15
The next day as I once again readied my junk mail to clear the web (yes–I found a purpose for flyers), the air carried the echoes of the words to me. The spider’s web was successful only because she quietly and confidently relied on it’s strength, day after day after day.
In these past discombobulated months, I wonder what I have been relying on.
The context of the verse is about spiritual rebels. “In quietness and confidence is your strength, but you would have none of it.” So often, we only hear part of the verse–it’s a general issue in the world of memes and plaques and lovely little gift cards where there’s only room for a few words. This passage however, is a warning for those who have been given a chance and have run away from it, and I’ve been doing that.
Perhaps that’s why the spider has chosen my front door to build her web during this time. I’ve needed the gentle but resilient reminder.
In spite of the fact hand-written letters have given way to emails and status updates, I’m guilty of checking the mailbox every single day. There’s something about flyers and even the familiarity of the spider’s web that reminds me to hang in there. Of course, I’m still going to sweep the web away in the hopes she’ll find someone else who needs such reminding. As I do, I’ll find my gratitude.
In these months of waiting on things far beyond my sphere of influence, my frustration and anger have managed to push away quiet and confidence, and I have rebelled. Has it happened to you as well?