The Web We Weave

The news is terrorizing. So I read in small doses, then turn my attention to the stories unfolding before me.

Jeb turns twelve, and I host four pre-teen boys for 24 hours of pop music, soccer balls, assorted candies and Kung Fu. They thank me a hundred times as they eat my snacks, giggle and rough house under rainbows.

He’ll still hug me and say he loves me in front of his friends. But if I try to pull up a chair and join the conversation, he gives me the dilemmaed look. He doesn’t want to be unkind, yet his eyes express the tween conflict that sheepishly requests…could you…sort of…please…sorry mom…but could you just…not hang out with us…sorry…please?

I have my fears of Jeb growing up. There is an infinite of Unknown that will encompass him, as a big wide world, along with an arsenal of hormones, continue influencing him beyond my control. There is only so much I can do to buffer us both from these inevitable forces.

We do not live in the rubble of a war zone. We walk through our small town surrounded by locals we know and trust.

But anything can happen.

The media will remind you of that.

Anything can happen.

The spider reminds me of this, too.

That there’s power in the web we choose to weave. One breath at a time, one action into the next, the filament pouring forth from each of us yields something.

web 2015-12-08

What do we want to create?

How do we choose to see this life?

We can recoil in fear from the massive spider that could potentially harm. Or appreciate the beauty of the bedazzled display of diamonds, refracting the lace of light after a rain.

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