Squashed or saved?

I saved the worst until nearing the end of our redecorating. Today, I donned rubber gloves and cautiously opened the attic door. Nothing scurried away, but draped from the ceiling, across the coat rail, round the light bulb, was a gossamer matting woven over years.

Who knew spider webs could be tough enough to resist the pull of a Dyson? Gingerly, I lifted out a couple of old coats, matted with cobwebs. Suddenly they were alive as the eight-legged beasts who spun such traps scrambled to escape. I’m sorry … mmm, no, not really. First instinct. Squash them. 

And squash them I did. Three or four, though undoubtedly, lurking in pockets or down dark sleeves, there remain one, two or even a few more.

God didn’t don rubber gloves when he came to deal with us. He came as a baby, vulnerable and naked. The webs of deceit we weave, strong as we think they are, disappear in the puff of his breath. Fearful of his wrath, running to hide from his almighty power, we are instead overtaken by the power of his love, drawing us inexorably into his loving embrace.

I deserve to be squashed, but instead, I stand redeemed by his life. Amazing grace.