I am watching an ingenious little spider as he busily spins a web along a corner of the overhead fluorescent light fixture that's attached to the ceiling directly above my writing table. I assume he's learned that an electric light can be a useful lure that attracts flying insects to it. No doubt he's hoping to snag a nice gnat or two for supper.

Watching him, I cannot help but think of this spider as a very diligent worker. He will not quit until he is satisfied that his web is just right. My guest is a survivalist as well as a clever craftsman. This amazing creature is laying a seemingly endless amount of silken fiber which he actually manufactures from within his abdomen. I've heard that such fiber has a degree of strength which baffles entomologists. And how such a small spider could make miles of strong fiber from inside its belly remains an inexplicable marvel.

Furthermore, this little spider is resourceful. He's making good use of what man has made and has incorporated these things into its domain. He works alone, however, and he appears to be oblivious to my presence. He seems to be unconcerned that a giant-like human is sitting just several feet below him, studying his every move.

My new cellmate is a wise engineer, as well. He's never had to be taught how to weave a web or how to design it for maximum catch effectiveness. He was born with this knowledge. There was no mother spider to show him the way. His tiny brain was fully developed at birth. Another marvel still.

I wonder, too, if he knows that I do not eat bugs or spiders. His God-given instincts may have already informed him of this, for he shows no fear of me. So I'll leave him alone to work on his web. Nevertheless, I'd like to believe that, somehow, he sees me the way I see him, as a unique part of God's creation.

D.B.