The Resurrection

It's only natural that, by living in the mountains, we would make friends with critters. What is not natural, however, is when those critters invade the house.

About once a week, I find some member of the spider species crawling up the bathroom wall. Or descending from the ceiling above my seat on the john. Or hovering too close for comfort near my toothbrush.

Today's criminal was found on the ceiling in the shower, no doubt plotting my demise while my precious head was receiving a relaxing shampoo. Will--the cousin to whom I trust my life when it comes to eight-legged creatures--stepped in with Kleenexes and sent that spider to its trash can grave.

But then.

I bent down to grab the towel that I had dropped in my moment of panic and fear for my life. I glanced at the wad of tissue in the garbage, giving a moment's thought to a eulogy for the freshly deceased.

And then.

That spider came crawling out of the mound of tissue and began to climb back to its post in the shower, all limbs intact and not a hair out of place.

What the heck.

I thought Jesus was the only one with self-resurrecting capabilities.