God is like a spider's web
Spring: the season of the year when the weather becomes warmer, the trees bud out into a gorgeous array of flowers, and the spiders once again start making a web between the fence and my car door every. Single. Night.
On sunny spring days, the spider-chains that link the pillars of our patio overhang are visible in the morning light, shimmering like silver threads as they oscillate in the morning breeze. By mid-day they're as invisible as the shaded strands that wrap across my face each time I get into the car. I know they're still there, but I cannot see their presence.
God is like the strands of a spider's web -- often invisible, but everywhere and always present, sparkling in the corner of our eye or, perhaps more often, making God's invisible presence known in a manner we can sometimes find invasive. This world is filled with things we cannot always see. That doesn't make them any less real. I pray for eyes to see when God becomes visible, shining in the sun -- and for strength to productively engage when God's grace and God's commands collide with my being and compel action.
On sunny spring days, the spider-chains that link the pillars of our patio overhang are visible in the morning light, shimmering like silver threads as they oscillate in the morning breeze. By mid-day they're as invisible as the shaded strands that wrap across my face each time I get into the car. I know they're still there, but I cannot see their presence.
God is like the strands of a spider's web -- often invisible, but everywhere and always present, sparkling in the corner of our eye or, perhaps more often, making God's invisible presence known in a manner we can sometimes find invasive. This world is filled with things we cannot always see. That doesn't make them any less real. I pray for eyes to see when God becomes visible, shining in the sun -- and for strength to productively engage when God's grace and God's commands collide with my being and compel action.
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