Fragile Strength

I love trail running, especially in the first hours of daylight when the rays of the sun cast long shadows on the earth and dappled sunlight dances on the trail. The morning is peaceful as the birds wake the woods with their bright, cheery songs.  “Time to wake up!” they seem to say.  I love the sound of my feet hitting the trail, crunching through dead leaves.  And then… I’m covered in a sinewy web that some poor, unsuspecting spider built from one side of the path to the other in an attempt to catch its morning meal; instead, it caught me, and as I wipe away the silky threads covering my face and arms, I am praying that I don’t have a small hitchhiker to finish up my morning run.

I am now more aware of my surroundings.  I would really like to steer clear of future spider webs.  I notice the sun glistening on several just off the path.  They look like threads of silver strung with tiny diamonds.  And in the middle of each web, a small, orange spider sits waiting for its prey.  As I finish my run, I am amazed at how many webs I see scattered through the woods.  They are countless. 

I can’t help but contemplate the work of these orb spiders and each fragile trap that has been meticulously built in order to survive.  Web building spiders have to rely on these silky, sticky threads for life.  Without a web, the spider cannot eat.  They cannot see well, but they feel the slightest vibration and can interpret it through the movement of the radii.  The web that I destroyed within seconds had been built during the night, when most web building occurs.  Most spiders must rebuild their webs nightly, and as they do, they may eat the remnant of the old web, recycling the silk.  If nothing else, spiders are diligent.  Everyday their webs are destroyed by animals or wind (or errant runners), and yet every night they rebuild.  They have to.  Without such diligence, they would die.

A spider web is designed in such a way that when one strand is broken, the web is actually strengthened. The web is constructed so that the spider will only need to do minor repairs. Winds will blow and small branches will break. The spider has a built in defense mechanism of sorts in order to cope with such issues. They are equipped to handle minor snags.

Marriage is very much like a spider’s web.  It is beautiful and fragile; it requires diligence and sacrifice. Strength has to be built into the very fiber of a union because trials will come; and when they do, strands will be broken. However, if the marriage has been correctly constructed, those troubles will strengthen the relationship rather than weaken it.  Our words and actions must be guarded. Within moments, errant words spoken in anger can destroy the magnificent threads that have been intricately spun together. The very thing created to sustain life becomes a tangle of tacky threads clinging to branches while the wind whisks away the remnants of the life you have knit together.

Every day work, family, and finances run through the paths of your life, fighting for attention—attempting to destroy what you have built. And every night, the work of rebuilding what has been lost must be done.  Without the web that has joined you together, the marriage will starve and eventually die due to malnourishment. You must diligently build together what the world destroys daily.

We can learn a great deal from nature and the fragile strength of the spider’s web. Take time to rebuild what is destroyed daily. Be diligent. The life of your marriage depends on the web you weave.