We met a spider in the house we stayed at last week. He was hanging high up on the wall just above the window in the girls' bathroom. He was quite large, slightly disturbing, and completely ugly. But it was okay because he was dead.
I knew. I stared hard at him every time I walked into the bathroom, and he never moved. Three days straight, and he never moved. It became a sort of parable for me. No matter what happened during the week - and we had several things happen - but no matter who got sick or who got buglarized or how late breakfast was, we were okay. Our enemy was dead. I knew. He was hanging motionless in the bathroom.
Then the spider did what he wasn't supposed to do. He moved. Suddenly, my parable wasn't doing so well. The enemy I had proclaimed dead was twitching. Threatening to come down from the window and terrorize our household. Survival instinct took over. I jammed my Chacos on my feet (Thanks, Kristi!), grabbed the mop, and smashed the spider against the wall. One point for me. Don't think there will be a round two.
My enemy was defeated.
When I consider Haiti, when I consider America, when I consider the world, I do not see that the darkness is gone. I see black - thick, gross, strangling pitch black. But I also see stars. I see a multitude of bright, singing stars. And the more the stars sing, the less of the night I see. I see the promise of day paling the eastern horizon. I see that the dawn is coming.
Our enemy is not dead. He is alive. Lurking in the shadows, sneaky, ugly, inconsistent. But he is also defeated. By Jesus' blood on the cross, by the power that raised Christ from the dead, by the Name that is above every other name. The enemy is strong . . . and God is stronger. Our God is stronger.
