3.08.2012

Chasing Pickles

One of my favorite times of the year is coming up: Daylight Saving Time.  I realize that it makes many folks moan and groan, and that's alright.  No one is required to agree with me, but I love it. I love that it means it's time for the lake water to warm, and the sun to rise over the boathouse all goldeny orange, or better yet purple laced silver through the mist.  I love that is means brown thrasher serenades in the morning and screech owls in the evening, and all the long slow sunsets that I love. It means Spring is here and Summer is coming; my inner lizard can makes its presence known.

I'm a little excited.
In fact, I must tell you:  We've been living on DST for roughly nineteen hours now.
I know, I know. It's crazy. But for the past few years we've played with time and rather than the crash and burn of a harried Sunday morning with not enough sleep, we've eased into longer evenings and earlier mornings and been the better for it.

It can only be Divine intervention that three years in a row have found us with room in our schedules to stretch time this way.  But since I am slow it took me until this year to realize that God is showing me that He can make more rest with less time than any time saving miracle modern culture has to offer. This year has launched our family into a whole new level of hectic (or perhaps the same hectic with new clothes), and our Sabbath commitment has faltered and been half-hearted, a disobedience that has been of particular discomfort this past week, but this weekend is the time of my repentance when I begin anew to celebrate not only a Sabbath day but a Sabbath heart.

Because I am slow to learn on many things, God provided us with a wonderful illustration of our need to rest in His time.  After school I chased us all outside to lounge in the sun and spring breezes (tomorrow brings more of  March's roaring so we're making the most of what we get).  Apparently the bumble bees also felt the need to emerge today. We spent the better part of three hours being highly amused by the one who had very boldly staked his territorial claim on our deck. Anxiously he buzzed and hovered, sometimes hovering inches from our face to stare us in the eye as if to say, "It's only because I heard about your reputation with spiders that I am letting you stay here." Approximately every ninety seconds, a bumble bee interloper would fly into the area and our bee would rev up his buzz to infuriated levels to defend what was rightfully his.  Time after time he chased, darted, bullied and harassed, occasionally actually coming to mid-air collisions and wrestling matches -we called them bumble rumbles- not only with other bees but butterflies, gnats, the dog, anything he felt large enough and loud enough to handle.  He worked so hard all afternoon long. Lindsay and I accidentally learned that if we threw things from our chairs to the yard he would actually chase them, and so for awhile the air was filled with small sticks, crepe myrtle pods and even small bits of pickles as we amused ourselves with what we called Bumble Fetch (later the dog ate the pickle bits...who knew?).  So much energy was expended today. Not one time did our bumble stop to rest. Not one time did his angry, anxious, belligerent hum diminish.

Here's the catch.  This particular bee will likely be dead by Saturday. All that work. All that effort. For what, really?

I learned a lot today by letting go of should and ought and embracing Be (and bee).

Teach me to number my days, Lord, that I might gain a heart of wisdom, and thank you for the bee lessons and the incredibly gorgeous spring day. Amen.

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