By Michelle Louise Pierre I remember sitting in church one Sunday, feeling the waves of God's love pass over and through me. The congregation had just finished with a time of praise and worship. Now, it was time for our pastor to bring us a word from the Lord. A calming hush had settled over the entire congregation. As he began to speak, something out of the ordinary came into view. Please excuse me, but I must back up a little to fill in a few details that led up to this new discovery. I had previously noticed that as someone had come to sit in front of me, they had casually brushed something away from their face. It looked, to me, like the kind of "creepy" reaction you automatically have when a spider's web touches your skin, especially your face. The moment I saw her reaction it caused me to look up, and sure enough, I saw the remains of the tattered web hanging about eight feet above the sanctuary floor from the ceiling. Once noted, I put it out of my mind, not giving it another thought as an atmosphere of praise and worship enveloped us. But now, back in our seats, I noticed that the web was not unoccupied, as I had previously thought. Instead, it now had a small tan-colored spider using it as a mode of transportation, like it was on a down escalator in a crowded mall. Now that a few others had also become aware of its looming, it was causing a minor disturbance. I must confess that from that point on, one eye and both ears were tuned into what the pastor had to say, but the other eye was definitely focused on that spider, as it methodically inched its way down on that trail of remaining web. I knew that it was only a matter of time before it reached the "end of the line" and started a new one. As anybody knows, a spider can descend from point A to point B – a span of three feet or more – in a matter of a split second. The spider continued for a few more seconds, then it seemed to realize its eminent demise and stopped. That's when Donna, seated comfortably on the front row beside her husband who had noticed it a few seconds before, noticed it for herself. I could see the tension move into her shoulders as she slowly stared up at it. She was the closest victim. It was not directly over her head, but even the slightest breeze would swing it her way. Still, it was several feet away. After the initial shock wore off, she leaned over to her husband and said in a hushed voice, "Just don't let it touch me!" Her husband gave her a slight nod of assent. Then she went back to devoting her whole attention to what the pastor was saying. As was inevitable, it finally dropped around four feet, causing the rest of us to gasp silently, but was swiftly knocked down by a fan in her husband's hand. After that we all breathed an audible sigh of relief. Then the pastor said, "Thanks. That spider was interfering with my message." Those of us on the first two rows all started laughing. The others in the congregation had no idea what was going on, and we had not even been aware of the fact that he had noticed it, too. I have been pondering that incident for the last few days. My first thought as a single woman was that it would be nice to have so much confidence in a mate that I could rest securely in his ability to look out for me, even when danger was looming overhead; all the while knowing full well that he could handle the crisis. This morning it fully hit me. Why was this so significant to me? Why was God bringing it back to my remembrance, over and over again? As the scene played back in my mind, I finally saw what my Father wanted me to see and to know all along. He wanted me to get beyond the natural and see with my spiritual eyes. He told me that through all of the dangers that have come my way, He has always been, and will always be, there to take care of me. He added that if I ever become aware of a dangerous situation or person coming into my life, all that I need to do is call on Him. Then, lean all the more completely on Him, and He would take care of the danger for me. He finished speaking to my heart by telling me to completely rest in that fact. © 2002 Michelle Louise Pierre