The well-loved children’s classic Charlotte’s Web opens with a young girl named Fern saving a little
runt pig from being killed. At first she takes care of this pig whom she has
named Wilbur, but then he gets too big and he has to move to her uncle’s barn.
There in the barn a host of other animals live, and Fern spends much time
there. Among these animals is Charlotte, a gentle and kind spider who weaves
words into her web to save Wilbur from being slaughtered and turned into bacon.
At one point in the book, Fern’s mother speaks to the family doctor about her
concern for Fern, who claims to speak with animals, and about the appearance of
words in the web.
“Have you heard about the words that
appeared in the spider’s web?” asked Mrs. Arable nervously.
“Yes,” replied the doctor.
“Well, do you understand it?” asked
Mrs. Arable.
“Understand what?”
“Do you understand how there could be
any writing in a spider’s web?”
“Oh no,” said Dr. Dorian. “I don’t
understand it. But for that matter I don’t understand how a spider learned to
spin a web in the first place. When the words appeared, everyone said they were
a miracle. But nobody pointed out that the web itself is a miracle.”
Our idea of miracles is that miracles are something that can’t
be explained or observed regularly. We don’t consider a spider weaving a web a
miracle, but why not? Have you looked at a web lately? Seen the intricacies in
it? Have you wondered how that tiny spider has the ability to create that thread and weave it carefully so that even strong winds often do
not tear it? But because science can to
an extent explain how it happens, we discount it as a miracle. We lose our
wonder for the awesomeness in creation that points to its Creator.
I recently read a book in which the author Sarah Mackenzie tells
about a time she took her children to the zoo. On this day they would see a
walrus for the first time, and they eagerly settled themselves before the glass
and waited for the walrus to appear. She just knew it would be a magical moment
for her young kids. All of a sudden the walrus appeared, and her daughter
cried out “Oh Mommy, look!” Sarah writes, “I turned to her in expectation,
eager to watch her first impression of the walrus’s size and grace, but instead
saw that she wasn’t looking through the glass at all. She was on her hands and
knees, nose inches from the sidewalk and eyes open wide in amazement, watching
an ant skitter across the ground as it carried a piece of food bigger than
itself.”
Sarah writes that so often in life we miss the little
miraculous moments because we’re waiting for the “walruses,” the big moments, to
appear. But just as the spider weaving its web is a miracle, so the ant who
carries food twice his size is a miracle. Yet somewhere along the way, we’ve
lost our sense of the wonder of those seemingly small moments.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to miss those
“little” moments this week – the daily miracles that point to a Creator and His
love for His creation. That I have breath to breathe when I wake up in the
morning. The sunrise and sunset each day. The laughter of my children. The
changing colors in the leaves outside. The balm of a soothing word spoken at
the right time. The Word of God that I can hold in my hand. The ability to pray
to the Lord of the universe. And yes,
the spider weaving his large web outside my kitchen window.
Oh Lord, how manifold
are your works! In wisdom, you have made them all; the earth is full of your
creatures. Psalm 104:24
