Curious Christian

I haven’t seen a huntsman in a while.

I have lived in places where they were regular visitors—lurking behind the curtain, poised above the doorway, or guarding a corner of the ceiling. Always just appearing, never invited. Always respectful, if respected.

I used to react with fear, or at least unease. But over time, something shifted. I came to see them not as intruders, but as quiet companions—watchers of the night, hunters of other uninvited guests, keepers of balance. They never spun webs or drew attention to themselves. They simply moved through the world with purpose. Unseen work. Hidden service.

Looking back, I think those spiders taught me something of God.

Not the God of noise and spectacle, but the God who comes quietly. Who inhabits the edges. Who walks through the dark and does not panic. Who clears out what festers in silence. Who disturbs our comfort only to reveal hidden dimensions to the world.

The huntsman is not beautiful in any conventional way. But it is good. And I’m learning that God’s goodness often comes like that. Unannounced, slightly unnerving, and deeply faithful.

We don’t always notice the ones doing the hidden work, in the corners and crevices of our lives. But perhaps we should. Perhaps that’s where grace lives: not in control, but in trust. Not in what we tame, but in what we make room for.

I haven’t seen a huntsman in a while. But I remember. And I give thanks.