Mom, how did they make the world again? Did they make land or plants or animals first?
I go into long monologue about days of creation that bores him a lot. He stops blinking, and stares out the window; finally, he cuts me off.
Okay. But Mom? Why did they pour in the spiders? When was that?
I visualize Sam's idea of the creation of the world: a big stew, wherein the Lord adds a pinch of this or that, according to his whim. If Sam could only figure out when the spiders got added, he might be able to better understand their purpose; or maybe determine if their addition was ON purpose, or, more likely, a big misunderstanding.
Which makes complete sense to me. I think he asks a good question. Why, ever, did they put in the spiders?
Like me, Sam isn't a fan of the arachnids. No, no, hold on. I don't need your lecture about the supply chain or the food cycle or how this is earth week or blah blah blah.
Do YOU have hairy, 2-3 inch long wolf spiders at your house that you have to spray with hairspray before you kill? Because if you don't spray it and smack the mama anyway, thousands of tiny eight-legged babies will crawl off their squished mama's back and onto the shoe you squished her with, then up your pant leg and all over your house where they will incestuously multiply and bite you 126 times while you sleep in your bed? Do you have those?
(You might, if you live near me, in this great Sonoran desierto. Here is the family photo below: mom with all the babies. Heartwarming, isn't it?)
If you don't have them, don't try to tell me that spiders are my friends. My friends don't bite. Very often.
At least we don't have a house full of scorpions. (Like you, Jane and Todd, and Mom and Dad.)
I'm not sure I could answer all the deep doctrinal questions those horrid little fellas (also arachnids, btw) might provoke.