A Spider's Wisdom

Nicole Johnson reflects on the wisdom gleaned from facing one of her greatest fears.

When I tell you it was a tarantula, I’m not being dramatic or over-exaggerating for the sake of a reaction. I mean, I guess I can’t definitively say it was one breed or another (do spiders have breeds?) but it was the size, shape, color, hairiness, and speed of what I know to be a tarantula.

I was in college, loitering in the hallway of the business wing, waiting for my next class to begin. There was a group of students around me, some waiting and others passing by to get to where they needed to be. One second, everything was fine and normal. The next, he made his presence known and everything quickly became not fine and not normal. You can imagine my surprise—shock and paralyzing horror—when a spider of gargantuan proportions sped down the hallway, weaved its way through the throng of students and sought refuge up the leg of an innocent passerby. Yes. UP. THE. LEG.

It was one of those moments when it takes a second or two for your mind to catch up and register what is actually happening. There is just so much wrong with the situation, your brain is doing all it can to defensively block out the truth in the impossible. Let me be clear, if that had been my leg the eight-legged intruder decided to climb, I would have been the first person to literally succeed in jumping out of her skin. Not this guy. This guy looked down, quietly and calmly brushed the assailant back to the floor and continued on with his day as if his life did not just flirt with a tragic and untimely end.

After the attempted hitch-hiking situation didn’t work out, Mr. Hairy Horror continued his speedy escape down the hallway and found his way into the hands—THE HANDS—of a professor who caught sight of him and did not hesitate for even a breath before she bent down, scooped him up (as if he were a sweet little misplaced puppy), covered him with her other hand and walked away. WHAT?!? JUST?!? HAPPENED?!?

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I've always had a fear of spiders. There’s just nothing I like about them—not one thing. The excessive number of legs, the freaky eyes, their skill at hiding and uncanny ability to scurry out of a corner when you least expect it. My stomach lurches and chills run up and down my body when I happen upon one. They don’t necessarily deserve the hatred I harbor for them, but harbor I do and I’m not apologizing for it.

Funny enough, turns out these guys have a decent amount of wisdom hidden beneath the scary exterior. You know what they do when they are at the bottom of a height they want to climb? They do what they were made to do. They start spinning their web and slowly and patiently work until they are able to start their ascent. They spin and climb, spin and climb, never losing sight of their destination. I imagine they might prefer the ability to fly, jump or any other more efficient means of moving about. But they were made to spin and to climb. And that they do.

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My two college-aged sons recently settled back home for the summer, and I’m not handling it well. Isn’t that crazy? I spent the better part of the year mourning their absence and counting the days until they were home, and now I can’t seem to relax and just enjoy their presence. Rather, my mind is an intricate web of worries as I have reappointed myself the person in charge of making sure all is well in their lives. From their diet to scheduling haircuts to knowing where they are and when they are expected home to laying out appropriate plans for their futures—for some reason, having them in front of me has translated into having every last one of their concerns and needs added to my Iist.

Granted, I don’t actually remember either one asking me to handle these matters (cue eye roll from both entirely self-competent sons), but lately, I (and my husband would be quick to agree) compare myself to that spider scurrying down the hallway looking for some sort of refuge. It’s not a pretty sight. The long and short of it is, I’m scary. My boys are quick to brush me off and send me looking elsewhere for whatever unrealistic level of peace I’m searching for. Can’t say I blame them.

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I am left doing the only thing I can do. Pray and trust. And then pray some more. #CatholicMom

Parenting adult sons is really tricky (that may well be the understatement of the year). I’m no longer the one in control and a lack of control has never sat well with me. I am left doing the only thing I can do. Spin and climb. Or, in my case, pray and trust. And then pray some more. Slowly but surely, with (constant) prayer I find myself being scooped up and covered in His protection. And finally, I rest in the truth that was always before me. This. This is what I was made to do.

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