I have always despised spiders — not because they’ve ever done me any harm, but because I am simply terrified at the sight of them. These teeny tiny eight-legged creatures evoke a fear in me that can only be described as primordial. Despite this profound fear, I can’t kill them. Let me rephrase, I won’t kill them. I choose to live my life by extending kindness and grace to everyone I come across, and that includes the creepy crawlies I find in my home.
I have a “critter jar” (which is really just a whimsical name for my repurposed Prego pasta sauce container). Countless spiders have confusedly inhabited that jar as I frantically run down the stairs and out the front door. As terrifying as their proximity is, I owe them their life for a few measly minutes of inconvenience and fight-or-flight. And although I don’t know this for certain, I like to think their tiny bodies are filled with relief as they see the green grass from the inside of the glass. After hearing the horror stories of human encounters from their spider friends (or at least the ones that lived to tell the tale), they must be filled with joy that they encountered a human who offered them grace. I like to think they go home to their little spider webs and pray to their God, thankful for the extension of forgiveness in simply being seen — professing their gratitude for the gift of another day.
Despite my unknowingness of the inner workings of a spider’s mind, I think it’s safe to say that they want to live. They have their own daily routines, favorite foods, and skills. They have their own beauty, encapsulated by their individuality, just as us humans. They have their own families, thoughts, and feelings (or at least that’s what I believe anyway). I won’t pretend to have a PhD in Arachnology, but what I do know for certain is that spiders are alive and I am not God – so who am I to play that role?
One of my favorite poems is deeply relevant to the context and is as follows:
10 legs, 8 broken
To the spider,
the shadowed creature in the corner of the room i hate you.
You scared me just as your brothers and sisters did before you,
and i will tell you what i told them,
You are a trespasser that does not belong here.
You entered without knocking.
Roamed freely like this is your home and decorated my walls with unwanted, silk webs without asking.
You may not be the only killer here, but only one of us is innocent,
and it’s not you.
The spider says to me, it’s brittle body squashed and dying, It’s not you, either.
There is venom infused in my fang-shaped maws,
but i was born this way.
What’s your excuse?
If you could count your murders, how long would you be counting?
Am i really this threatening?
I thought human hearts were bigger than mine, but you have killed with malice instead of marrow of your bones and poison bubbling behind your scowl
And i’m sorry for scaring you,
but i didn’t know being seen would cost me my life.
Maybe
If you didn’t fabricate the prickly feeling of my legs creeping upon your skin while I crawled across the living room floor,
If the webs I weaved were made of cotton candy and captured clementines, cherries, and sweet peas rather than struggling wings and blood;
If i had a pink tongue, plush fur, a wagging tail, and four legs instead of eight
If i had only two eyes, and they were glittering stars and not supermassive black holes;
If i was the same but looked different;
maybe you wouldn’t hate me.
Maybe you wouldn’t have loved me, either, and maybe you still wouldn’t have let me stay,
but maybe you would’ve shown me the door or a window. Maybe you would’ve shown me mercy.
(But you are still standing, and I am still sorry).
I think
maybe,
no matter how reluctant,
mercy would’ve been enough.
This poem breaks my heart every time. If you have ever felt misunderstood, I fear this poem will resonate deeply with you, too. The vitriol I, and others, have for spiders is woven by their appearance, not their character. So, next time you see a spider, let mercy guide you instead of fear. Trap her in a jar, or in between a cup and a piece of paper. Set her free to the world. We are so much larger than they are – let us be gentle giants rather than a wrathful God.