I don’t manage to get into the outside world much. I mostly live in the bedroom, propped up with pillows during the day. Today my legs had the good grace to carry me out to our small patio, and there I stayed a few sweet moments to be in awe of the pale pink cherry blossom against the silver-grey sky. It is early Spring here and it was wonderful to see so many bees buzzing around the translucent beauty of the flowers.
One of the honey bees dropped almost vertically out of the sky and landed on a blade of grass, obviously in need of a rest. I (perhaps foolishly) knelt down to be with it. Here passed a delicious minute of grace, sitting with a bee. I watched it breathing in and out, watched as my cat gave it a curious sniff and hopped backwards, watched as it gathered its strength and washed its tiny face with its front legs, and watched as it made itself ready and flew upwards and off as quickly as it had arrived.
Yes it was painful, and taxing, getting up again, yes I’m glad my plastic patio chair was there to lean on, and grateful I was only a few feet from the back door. But I’m also glad to have shared time in the life of one of God’s tiniest creatures, encounter with any one of whom is a glimpse into the heart and mind of the creator.
Often such time is a gateway into contemplation, or simply awe, which we can then take back into our “ordinary” time as spiritual food. As with any kind of prayer, I find that, given a willingness to be still, or quiet, to observe without expectation, to be childlike in our sight, we are often given a special gift to take into ourselves. God can feed my hungry heart in just a brief interlude in the day, and it will be something I always remember.
It was not until I began writing about this just now that I also recalled that a name God has given me is “the Honeycomb Hermit” and so there is much here to meditate on, and I am not above being taught by an insect how to rest, and how to “bee” still.
Text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt