The Great Spider Revival
By Summer Bacon
"Oh no!" I sighed. I could see it there, even through the shampoo suds that cascaded over my eyes as I scrubbed my head. [Please note: Always wash your scalp using your fingertips, not your nails. I went through a period of tremendous hair loss, and begged Spirit to help me with it. I thought I must be severely stressed, or lacking in nutrients. I worried myself to pieces about the clogged drain after every shower. Then one day, as I was shampooing, I heard a loud voice say, "Don't use your nails! You're cutting your hair!" Okay, it's silly, but if it happened to me, it could happen to you too. One of those absent-minded habits that we're not even aware we are doing.]
It was tiny, wet, shriveled, and almost nondescript, but I knew exactly what it was.
It was an oh so very tiny spider. And, to my eyes, it lay soaking in the hot shower water, dead.
"Doggonit," I pouted as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and turned off the water. I grabbed a piece of tissue and placed it next to the spider, allowing it to soak up the water. Then, very carefully, I touched the tissue to the poor little wet body, and scooped her up.
"You dummy," I gently cursed at it, "You were supposed to go outside, not back into the tub."
You see, I'd already rescued her once. It was, for me, one of those frustrating and heart wrenching moments when I throw back the shower curtain and see a spider in the tub. They don't scare me, but I can't proceed with my shower without first removing the spider to safety, and this can take patience and time. You've likely been in the same situation, and as you know a fast moving spider in a slippery tub is not an easy thing to catch. I use a paper towel. It's easy for them to cling onto, but you gotta move fast. I usually just toss the towel into the trash, intending to remove the spider to the outdoors later on. I figure that at least it won't die from drowning and has a fair chance to escape while I'm taking my shower.
That's precisely what I did the day before, and now here she was, this stupid oh so very tiny spider, on a piece of tissue, looking as dead as dead can be. I squinted through the steam at her.
"Hmm, maybe you're not the spider. Maybe you're a gnat," I pondered. Yes, it looked kind of like a gnat that has been soaking in the glass of champagne that you were having on the patio. "Poor thing, hmm...or, are you a piece of lint?" I giggled at myself. It would be like me to save a piece of lint. "Yes, I believe you are a piece of lint." (I really guess it doesn't take much to keep me entertained, does it?)
I took the tissue and laid it on the counter, attempting to wipe the little spider/gnat/lint off onto it. I was determined to find out what it was. Suddenly out of the gray matted mess, an oh so very tiny little leg popped up and wiggled ever so slightly, as if to say, "Don't leave me! I'm still alive."
My heart pounding I reacted with my instincts. I began to blow on the spider/gnat/not lint very, very lightly. A couple more legs began to emerge from the mass. They weren't moving. I highly doubted that whatever it was could still be alive.
"C'mon. C'mon sweetie," I talked to it, "Please be alive." I continued to blow on it, but as the weight of the water evaporated away from it, the little spider became as light as lint and she blew across the counter. "Ahh!" I screamed, and quickly stopped her with the tissue. Yes, it was the same little spider I'd rescued the day before. She was still quite tangled, and looked very dead indeed. I stopped blowing and started healing.
My right hand quickly jutted out, filled with energy, and my palm was placed above the tiny little body. It felt as if I was not doing the healing, but rather it was flowing through me. I closed my eyes. My heart was filled with love and determination. I asked the spirit of the little spider to come back, to please live. I told her that I was sorry I'd soaked her, and tried to explain that if she came back I would do everything possible to find her a safer place to live.
Very slowly, seven of her eight legs unfolded and the tiny body plumped up, looking almost normal, except that she was unstable. I used to tissue to right her, but she kept tipping over onto her head. I kept talking to her. "C'mon. You can do it. C'mon Charlotte." Finally the seven legs were fully extended, but the one remained folded under her. She remained very still. I could not detect any movement. My palm found its way above her once again, and gave her a last blast of love. I looked. No motion. I decided to leave her there and go about my day's business.
As would be expected, I quickly forgot about the little spider, and didn't remember her until late in the evening.
"Oh! The spider!" I jumped up from the couch and ran into the bathroom She was still there, but had obviously moved from her original spot. Her eighth leg was now fully extended! I took the tissue and touched the tip of one leg. She took off like a bat out of hell...er...I mean, like a spider after a near death experience.
"Hey kids! C'mere! C'mere!" I called. My daughters came running into the bathroom with great anticipation. By that time the spider was long gone. The kids looked rather perplexed as I pointed to the empty spot on the counter and recounted the whole tale of resurrection.
"And then I held my palm over her and she began to pop back into full form! I swear she was dead! But then the more love that I sent to her, the more life she seemed to have. I came in here and she took off running. That's so cool! I mean, isn't it amazing the opportunities we are give in life to love more? It's incredible the lessons that we can learn from pausing long enough to save a spider!" I bubbled with enthusiasm.
My two daughters, 13 and 16 years old, looked at me blankly and shrugged their shoulders. "Yeah, Mom, we know. We do it all the time."
"Huh? You...you mean you revive spiders? I mean, like the kind I'm talking about? I mean, this one was really gone. I mean..." I was being a bit dramatic now, but I couldn't let this go. I'd revived bugs many times in my life, but this one was different. This spider was dead and I was sure that I brought her back to life. It had been several minutes before she'd even stuck out that first leg. She was drenched! Drowned. Dead. Deceased Gone. Out of the body. Finished! "Yeah, Mom, we know. They look all mushy and then you blow on them, and hold your hands over them, and give them love, and talk to them and they spring back after awhile. We do it all the time."
"Oh." I was almost disappointed. If I thought I was the Second Coming of Christ, I could release that thought right now.
The kids couldn't wait to get back to their television show. I just stood there and giggled at myself. It really was a rewarding moment, though, to think that the oh so very tiny piece of lint turned out to be my friend the oh so very tiny spider, and was roaming around somewhere freely in the bathroom.
The line from Emily Dickenson's poem flooded back to me: "If I could but lift one robin unto its nest again, I shall not have lived in vain."
In the morning I threw back the shower curtain and scanned the inside of the tub, certain that my little spider friend had returned to her old risky behavior patterns. This time I'd find her and put her in the field across the street.
She wasn't there.
"Well, she must've found a way out," I thought, feeling quite satisfied.
The day went on as usual, until right before bed when I remembered: I'd awakened the night before and went into the bathroom and saw a really big cockroach. I'd not seen one like that before. It scrambled along the base of the counter as soon as the light went on, and tried to push its way under the baseboard. "Here we go again," I thought, feeling a bit squeamish about it being a cockroach, however, "Okay, listen buddy," I projected my thoughts towards this creepy crawler of the earth, "I know you have a purpose in life, but please stay out of my bathroom. Go outside, would you please?"
Well, to be honest, I was a bit freaked out to think that where there was one giant cockroach that there could likely be others. That evening I rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink and pulled out an old can of organic bug spray that I used more as a warning rather than a killer. In other words, I'd spray cracks and crevices when no bugs were around, and hope that they wouldn't cross the line. I decided to do this in the bathroom, just around the base of the sink, as a warning to the cockroach and its relatives that I meant business. The spray stinks of very strong eucalyptus and other herbs, so I just sprayed a little, then stood back feeling more confident. I thought about the irony of doing this on the day after I'd revived the tiny spider.
"The spider! Oh my God!" I suddenly remembered her, "What if she's still in here? The poison will kill her!" My gaze was automatically drawn to the counter, and there she was moving as fast as ever. "Run Bambi! Run!" I cried, "Stay on the counter! Find shelter!" I'd suddenly changed from Jesus Christ into a repenting ruthless killer. "Hurry! Hurry!" I cried as she ran into the sink, and into the water overflow hole (I'm not sure if that little hole has a name). I covered the hole with a towel to keep the poisonous fumes from going in.
Whether my little friend survived the night, I'm not sure, although when I awakened that night and went into the bathroom, a walked through a web. (I guess that makes me a home wrecker, but at least it gave me hope that she made it.)
It's a funny thing, life. The lessons of love abound no matter where we look. Some of you might read this article and think, "Gee, Sum, isn't that behavior a little obsessive?" I really don't think so. I believe that obsessive behavior is sitting and watching television for hours every night. I believe it's obsessive to step on bugs out of fear, or because they're a nuisance. I believe it's obsessive to have time for telephone calls to strangers, and not enough time to talk to your children.
No, I don't think we can save every ant and fly and spider. Nor can we save every human being. But, when the opportunities present themselves, we can search our hearts and try.
How small do you think we are to God? Are we oh so very tiny? There are billions of people in the world, and yet we want God to account for us and our welfare. We stick out our oh so very tiny hand into the air, or speak with an oh so very tiny voice, and we pray that Someone is listening to us...that Someone will respond.
Personally, I think that, to God, our presence is very large, because He is paying attention. He stands at the ready, with the shower curtain drawn, paper towel in hand (in case we have the strength to pull ourselves up), or a piece of tissue (in case we are drowning in our misery and need to be resurrected). He's ready to blow on us with the breath of life, and holds a gentle palm over us so that His heart full of love can flow out to us when we need it.
God is always ready for The Great Spider Revival. Any kid knows that.