The time Spike the Spider reminded me

what a blessing home is

(audio version)

As I pulled into the campground, I felt a familiar anxiety rising up. It was getting late in the day, I didn’t have a reservation, and it looked like all the spots might be taken. Was there another campground close by? What were my other options? I’m a little embarrassed to admit how panicky this kind of situation can make me feel. After all, (as I’ve often told myself) I could always just drive home if I had to. I did have a place to sleep that night.

Halfway around the campground loop, I slipped into what turned out to be the last spot and exhaled. Ahhh…home sweet home for $19. Filling out the fee envelope, I remember writing ‘1’ in response to the question, “Number of occupants?” But that turned out to be not quite true. Because the next morning, reaching for my water jug, I noticed that residence had been established in the groove of the handle…by a little brown spider.

Normally I might have helped him be on his way, but given my own housing scare the night before, I felt, if not compassion, then at least a little campassion. Live and let live, I thought, and decided my new friend looked like his (or her?) name was Spike.

Now I know a spider isn’t everyone’s idea of a camping buddy. But in the timeless words of Bob Dylan, “we all need a little shelter from the storm.” It can be a harsh world, and making our way through it, whether we’re on two, four, or even eight legs, is far more precarious than we like to admit. Spike was just after the same thing I was: a little protection from the elements, a ledge over his head, a place to call home for a while.

Which got me thinking about…shelter. It’s so basic. So primal. So ancient. Every living thing has to have it, at least now and then. And yet, the complexity of modern life has distanced most of us humans from how important shelter really is. We walk in and out of our homes every day without giving them the attention, or appreciation, they deserve.

Sure, we might contemplate what tile to choose for the new backsplash or wonder how to fix a loose cabinet door. But how often do we pause and feel just how much we depend on the heat flowing so generously through the vents, the water pouring so willingly from the tap, and the not-just-proverbial roof over our heads?

I think that’s part of why I like camping. The absence of things I normally take for granted brings the reality of my own fragility into clearer focus.

And with fragility comes humility.

And with humility comes gratitude.

And gratitude is, well, one of the secrets to a meaningful life.

So here’s a little something you might try. The next time you arrive at home, just as your hand touches the handle of the door, pause a moment. What you are about to do is so easy to take for granted. But instead of rushing in, take just a second to feel how lucky you are. Think about the staggering 770,000 Americans and 150 million people worldwide who can’t do what you’re about to do. And maybe even whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ to the Universe, God, or your lucky stars. Having a place to rest your head is a blessing (even one you share with a spider).

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Here’s a picture of Spike tucked into his ‘tent.’ After three days together I couldn’t bare to shoo him away, so we came home together (a 7 hour drive) and he stayed on our back porch for two more days. The next morning he was gone.

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And finally…I’m excited to announce my next online class with my colleague, Elizabeth Jameson. We just finished a class on the book, The Wisdom Jesus, with 30 participants and here’s what one participant had to say:

“Ian and Elizabeth are rare and wonderful guides for anyone longing to travel the spiritual path. Every person, no matter one’s religious background or affiliation (or even lack thereof) will feel seen, respected and welcomed by their warmth and wisdom.”

Our next class will explore the wisdom of the book, Living Presence, by modern-day Sufi master, Kabir Helminski. This is a beautiful book, full of insight for living more attuned to the Mystery that is as close as our own breath, and yet never within our grasp. The class will take place on Zoom on Wednesdays from 11:30 to 12:50 (Mountain Time), for 6 weeks from April 23- May 28. The cost is $111 and you can register HERE.

Please feel free to pass this on to anyone you think might be interested!

Until next time,

Ian