True story

Over the weekend, I woke up in the middle of the night with a large spider in my hair.

I don't know whether I woke up first and then ran my hands through my hair, or if I flung my hand up over my head in my sleep and feeling him was what woke me, but in any event, there was very little time between my fingers finding him and me bolting upright and tearing my bed apart looking for him.

I didn't find him again until the next morning. He scurried out from under my quilt while I was making my bed, and I, feeling some responsibility for him now that we'd spent the night together, went to grab a jar so I could carry him outside.

But in the process of scooping, he dragged across my sheets and lost the majority of his legs. I looked in horror at the mess that landed in the bottom of the jar — a jerking, quickly dying, half-spider. Seconds ago, he'd been going about his life. Hours ago, he'd been powerful enough to propel a creature several thousand times his size out of a dead sleep. Now he was fatally wounded and missing several body parts.

I was trying to do the right thing, but instead I delivered hapless destruction.

I feel this is a good analogy for life.