They first came to me last fall. In the midst of the chaos of moving - the swirl of lists and tape and hopes and reservations and so so many things. They lighted softly on a piece of furniture here or a box there. A paradox of calm from the usually buzzing honeybee, wings so still that I’m sure I imagined the humming. Or perhaps that was the sound in my own head then.
The air cooled after we moved, and the bees left me. But the swirling and buzzing inside me stayed.
I was left missing their calm.
We moved from our lovely home in hopes to step closer to our lifelong dream. Within all the uncertainty of a big decision, we were sure of our dream, sure the decision to move was right, and sure that the whole process would be daunting and hard.
So we sold and left and bought land and a trailer to live in. We filled our hearts with hopes of a little farmhouse and a tree lined driveway and started moving forward, which felt a lot like jumping into a pit with only our faith guiding our climb out.
And as we climbed, things got harder.
Winter was cold and dark and cave-like.
Other responsibilities emerged and expanded.
A surprise baby swirled and hummed inside me.
The buzzing was becoming deafening. Out of control.
But then I remembered the honeybees.
With their golden bodies and shimmering wings. All fuzzy softness and fragility mixed with deep knowing and hard work.
They had come to tell me something that I was too busy then to know.
But now, in this dark buzzing of a winter without the bees I needed to know.
So I researched the honeybee as if they were a code I desperately needed to crack.
Thought to be messengers from the Divine, the honeybee symbolizes many things. Fertility. Prosperity. Hard Work. Community. Sweetness. And Life.
I remembered how I looked at them closely, right into their shining black eyes and felt them regard me, measure me, prepare me.
Preparing me for softness and knowing and fragility and hard work. And a new life.
Perhaps they really did come to me as little messengers, little angels, the kind with wings, sent by the Queen Bee Herself. Perhaps my divine Mother knew I would need to remember that I was prepared for what was to come, even if I didn’t realize it then.
That I was prepared, made, to be soft and knowing and fragile and strong and hard working. All of the things that I needed to be. That I was consecrated to be the queen bee in my own little hive.
That I was not left alone.
Another honeybee came to me today. I was sitting outside, stilling my swelling body and the stirring inside me in the warm sunshine and cool spring breeze. It lighted on my resting feet, claiming my attention, then moved to sit on the pillow next to me.
And as we sat together, I drank deeply the calm.
I said hello to my little friend and thanked him for the message.
For the acknowledgement that all this is hard.
For the reassurance to cling to faith.
For the reminder that I’m not alone.
And now I am prepared to be more calm, to let the busy buzzing of life – the swirl of lists and tasks and reservations and hopes and so many other things - hum around me while I become the soft and strong knowing at the center of my hive.
I know now why they come to me.
These little golden couriers sharing their message with their keen black eyes:
“Still your wings, child. Still your wings.” They say.
Hi! I'm Amy
I am a Christian wife and mother, a writer, and a recovering perfectionist who is tired of chasing happiness in all the wrong ways. I am now on a journey to find a deeper state of being. Join me on My Peace Project and we'll learn how to survive the chaos together!