Altar Call Ė Opelika-Auburn News

Walter Albritton

September 29, 2002


Spider webs and other things that cause me to cringe with disgust


††††††††† I hate to run into a spider web. I seldom see the web until it is on my face and all over my head. That sticky stuff makes me cringe with disgust.

††††††††††† When I realize I have run into yet another spiderís domain, my heart skips a beat as I wonder if the spider is on me too. I can imagine that it is angry. I have disturbed its nest. Now the tiny killer is poised and ready to slam its deadly venom into my veins.

††††††††††† Instantly both my hands are busy brushing the web off my head and my clothes. All the time I am looking for the spider and wondering if the rascal is crawling toward my ear or about to bed down in my thick hair. Fear takes over.

††††††††††† Within minutes I will be stretched out on the ground paralyzed. No one will hear my call for help because I cannot speak. My life will be over, taken from me by a villain that will disappear into the grass, there to prepare for another innocent victim.

††††††††††† When I am found hours later the spider web will have dissolved. No one will suspect my cruel fate. Everyone will assume a stroke or a heart attack took me out. Families dislike autopsies so the ugly little creature will get away with murder.

††††††††††† The itsy bitsy spiders I have known love to spin a web in just the right place to catch my head. There are plenty of places where they could trap a fly but no, they stay up all night designing a web that will be spread out in the perfect position to entangle me.

††††††††††† So for me three things are inevitable: death, taxes, and spider webs. I ran into one this week. And I know it will happen again and again. Those spiders know I dislike them and they are after me.

††††††††††† I also hate to run into a nest of yellow jackets. They have a right to build their nests. And I know they have to live somewhere. But why does it have to be on my land?

††††††††††† Not long ago I was doing some work with my bush hog and sure enough, I disturbed a nest of those stinging rascals. They let me know that they did not appreciate being bothered.

††††††††††† The tractor was not fast enough for me to escape them so I bolted off the tractor, running for dear life. Right then I didnít care if the tractor wound up in the next county.

When yellow jackets are swarming all over you, all you can think about is getting away from them.

††††††††††† The trouble is, they are almost impossible to outrun. So I spent the next few minutes running, slapping, and praying. Come to think of it, maybe the Lord could get more of us to doing some serious praying if he turned more yellow jackets loose on us. It sure worked on me.

††††††††††† Another thing I hate to run into is a fellow who wants to argue about religion. Such fellows are almost as plentiful as spiders and yellow jackets.

††††††††††† Everywhere I go somebody tries to raise an argument with me about God. Most of the time I donít bite. You can never win an argument about religion. Nobody ever wins. People just get angry and ugly.

††††††††††† One man told me I was going to hell because I was a Methodist. I never did find out what he was, but whatever it was, I would not want to be one. He was the kind of fellow who makes you almost want to go to hell if you have to be with the likes of him in heaven. (Now, beloved, donít get alarmed; I did say ďalmost.Ē)

††††††††††† I did not listen to him long enough to find out why he thought Methodists were going to hell. I reckon there will be some Methodists in hell, because some Methodists are just church members who have never been saved.Churches canít save anyone; only God can save people, and he only does that when people trust in his son Jesus.

††††††††††† Well, I donít want to turn you off by getting too religious. But since I have brought God into a spiel that began with spiders, I will close with a prayer.

††††††††††† Lord, please deliver me from spider webs, yellow jackets, and folks who want to argue about religion. Amen.