Today is Easter and the most meaningful celebration for Christians. Yes, Christmas is big but Easter is what makes Christianity what it is – it is the story of ultimate love and sacrifice – and the resulting resurrection of the sacrifice.
I don’t think about this every day – what love is – but because of today being Easter, I asked myself what love is. And this is what I came up with:
Recently, my beehive was disturbed in the middle of the night. I think that a raccoon tried to climb on it and ended up knocking it over. At 2AM Gary and I were awoken by a loud thud. We couldn’t figure it out for awhile… and then I looked outside my window and saw the beehive on the ground – boxes askew and bees everywhere. I didn’t want to take care of them – I had taken some sleep aids earlier to help me sleep through the night and was very groggy. But I couldn’t leave the bees like that – it was cold and they would die. So, I got up, put on some long sleeves and long pants, found my gloves and bee bonnet and went outside to figure out what to do.
It was a mess. The bees were swarming all over the boxes. There wasn’t a spot on the outside of the boxes that wasn’t covered in bees. And they were angry – I could hear their high-pitched buzzing as I approached.
Sigh…
I tried to straighten the boxes and turn them right-side up but the boxes were full of bees and honey and were too heavy – I was trying to man-handle 200 lbs of angry bees…. And it wasn’t working. I did the best I could and took a break. Unfortunately, in my groggy state, I hadn’t suited up properly and a bee made her mark on my lower spine – in the small of my back. Ow…
I went back inside and just sat on the bed. I was so disheartened, groggy, and now sick to my stomach. I was ready to cover the hive and introduce a can of Raid to the situation…
Gary got out of bed and started putting on his jeans and a sweatshirt.
Now, Gary and I have an agreement – the bees are mine. He helps with heavy lifting but that is it. He likes honey, and isn’t afraid of bees, but he isn’t excited about being up close and personal with them. But here he was, suiting up.
We returned to the bees and tried to figure out how to set the boxes upright. They had fallen completely over and the floor of the hive, which isn’t connected anyway, was completely open, exposing the queen and all of the eggs and baby bees to the cold air. The bees were swarming over the openings in order to keep the heat in and to protect their hive. And they were mad… worse than any case of PMS. Gary and I tried several different approaches. Each move made the bees angrier and angrier. They were now actively attacking us.
There is a very primal response to the sound of a swarm of angry bees --- something that is buried deep in the recesses of the brain. It was dark (light makes it worse for the bees), we were tired, and the whine of angry bees got louder and higher pitched. At some point I finally had to walk away. The adrenaline was pumping and my brain was screaming, “RUN, RUN”! I just couldn’t continue to stand in the middle of that angry swarm of attacking bees. So I told Gary that I needed a break.
We walked away and I spent quite awhile getting the bees off of me. My back was hurting where the first sting had occurred on my spine, I was groggy, and adrenaline had made me queasy. I went into the house (safe finally!) and waited for Gary. Taking up a post to observe the bees through the window, I realized that Gary had returned to the hive. I thought that he had simply decided to look at it again and try to figure out how to right the boxes. To my utter amazement, and complete horror, I watched him grab each box and jerk and twist them so that they were somewhat aligned. The bees were swarming around him and were stinging him. I could tell this by the way he was reacting. Instead of leaving, and probably letting the boxes fall again and open up completely, he put his gloved hands into the middle of the swarm of bees, found the side of the boxes, and with brute strength, pushed the boxes upright. The bees were screaming and were all over him. He couldn’t quite keep the boxes upright and was finally able to wedge them up with a piece of the broken fence.
I watched and couldn’t utter a sound. I didn’t want to break his concentration so bit my tongue instead. And then he ran… and began hollering for me to come and help him. I quickly put my gloves back on, forgot the bonnet and found him in the middle of the courtyard, frantically pawing at his bonnet. He had many bees stuck to him – and even more flying around him. After several frantic minutes, we managed to get most of the bees off him; he tore his bonnet off and pulled off his shirt. Luckily he had returned to our secluded front stoop before pulling his jeans off and going inside the house in his skivvies.
Yes, he had been stung. I think our final count was only seven. That doesn’t sound like a lot – but it is.
Once things had calmed down, he showered in cool water, I fixed him some herb tea, and applied meat tenderizer to all of his stings (one was on his upper thigh – ouch!) I sat on the couch facing him. He had Mijo in his arms and his eyes were closed. And I realized that I what I had witnessed was love – pure and simple. This man loved me enough to walk into a swarm of angry, pissed off bees. This man loved me enough to take care of the bees when his primal brain screamed at him to run. This man loved me enough to know that I couldn’t physically do what needed to be done. And he faced the fear, the instinct to run. He faced it head on and took care of me.
That, my friends, is love.
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