This summer has literally been the summer of the bumble bees around here. As a rule, I am always on the search for my girls (honey bees, not kids) out and about, but there is an added layer of delight when I find the busy girl to be one of the bumble bee family. I love their fuzzy bodies, the loud noises they make as they slowly cruise by, along with their gentle demeanor.

Due to some combination of last winter’s birdseed and my desire to grow the largest flowers humanly possible, our backyard has become a menagerie of goldfinches, bees, and squirrels. So much so that I had to cut stalks down to allow entrance into our compost bin, chicken coop, and to reach my beehives. Now I’m collecting sunflower seed heads to prevent an even greater patch of brilliant gold next year.

I may have overdone it a bit.

It is exciting because some species of bumble bees have been placed on the endangered species list. So finding an abundance of them is a good problem to have. 

Most notably, bumblers are almost exclusively responsible for the tomato crop. They are the only bees with the vibrating method of pollen collection–which is responsible for the bumble noise where they derive their name. Without bumble bees, in some locations people have taken on the role of pollinators.

These creatures are so highly specialized and fit for the work that they do, that Walmart now sells pollination wands for regions that don’t have enough pollinators. It’s a wonder then, that bumble means ‘to move or act in a confused manner.’

Bumbling

But, I resonate with the description a bit. Even as a write, I’ve got two other projects sitting open on the table next to me that I continue to rotate between. If someone were to have tracked our movement as a family this summer, it could easily be described as bumbling. Never before (and maybe never again) have we had the good fortune of moving around in such a manner. It was fun without a doubt, but coming home to the routine of school again has made me a bit discombobulated and clumsy.

Yesterday for example as I inserted my Love and Logic strategy of letting my kids learn the consequences of their actions and they were both late to school. The night before when I spilled my entire water bottle in my lap and sat in standing water on my way to church and walked in with pants wet down to my knees and up my back, or bringing a comforter to the laundromat without quarters or soap and making several trips to successfully wash one blanket.

I was discouraged by all of these events.  But I imagine there is a deeper truth hiding in the brambles.

Rather than bemoan the many hats I’m wearing right now, and probably you are too, I’m trying to notice the way that only I can accomplish the tasks that I’ve been assigned. Not that I’m doing them any better or worse than someone else–in fact most days my approach is neither aerodynamic or graceful, but purposeful and hopefully, fruitful.

I’ve probably exhausted the bee metaphors in this space, but if you’re needing encouragement in your clumsy efforts this week, channel your inner bee, especially if she’s a bumbler!

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There’s been a long radio silence on my end—not for any particular reason, just the ebb and flow of the end of the school year and change of seasons that make a gal’s creative juices available at all times to all people and my words don’t always make it out onto the keyboard.

I hope this finds you well and easing into June—the way I suspect June is supposed to be entered into.

Rested

May has held a long list of guests in our humble abode, and it’s been a treat. As much as I would like to change some of the dimensions of our space, I keep hearing from the people we invite under this roof, that they’re comfortable and rested when they leave, and there’s not much of a higher compliment I can think to receive. Fresh eggs, honey, and couches go a long way, apparently. So, when the itch to look at bigger spaces, or more updated floor plans strikes, I’m trying to remind myself of the gaggle of folks who have commented (without prompting) that they aren’t coming to see our home, anyway.

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• We split our bee hive in May—which means we now have two (!), and they still swarmed –so we were busy with our busy bees for a few days.
• We’re in the throes of Vacation Bible School, which packs a punch for being a morning camp!
• I’m sticking to my first ever, self-imposed summer schedule to coordinate our comings/goings, as opposed to my own free spirit that doesn’t mind the daily question: What are we going to do today?
• Doing hard things

One of the things on our list is Mass one day each week—not because it comes naturally, but because Mass is actually still a challenge for our gang. Mostly this has been successful, as our parish has a beautiful chapel where we celebrate weekday Masses, and the shorter version of Sunday helps, too (most of the time).

Community

Last week we walked in during the opening song, as usual. Breezing by families with many (more) children who seem capable of gauging time—unlike the mother of my children. Frustrated as I was by our inability to arrive promptly, I was touched by the community we found gathered that day: A lady in my Bible study, with a wonderful Polish accent, pulled out chairs for us to sit with her; my kids exchanged the sign of peace with my good friend’s parents, a woman from my bee club caught me to talk bees over donuts; ladies in line for donuts caught wind of our plan to play at the park, and gave us directions, since it was right behind her home.

Nothing groundbreaking or spectacular, but I think what I was struck by was a deep sense of place. It has taken a long time to notice this feeling, and I’m not sure it’s a permanent fixture, but I noticed it, and I liked it, and I hope that from time to time, I contribute to it.

Pentecost always comes at a such a timely place in the year, doesn’t it? It’s the literal breath of fresh air that pushes us into a new opportunity and pace.

Recommended Reading

In other news, I am part of a launch team for a new book by Shannon Evans, an author I really enjoy. It’s called,Embracing Weakness: The Unlikely Secret to Changing the World.  She writes from her own experience as a protestant missionary turned Catholic Worker, and includes insights from wisdom figures like Jean Vanier, Fr. Greg Boyle and Brene’ Brown. Beautiful, introspective thoughts and questions worth sitting with, so add it to your summer reading list. *As a side, I’ve discovered my library has a ‘Suggested for Purchase’ page on their website. I have requested A LOT of titles for purchase and have never been turned down, so even if your book budget is low, consider requesting from your library so you (and others) still get a chance to enjoy.

That’s all I’ve got. Happy June. Happy reading & (hopeful) slowing down.

Cheers to unannounced visits and backyard iced tea.

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Lately the days have been…full. Lots of things: time in the canoe, time away with friends, school schedules, harvesting treats from the garden, (still) working on our patio renovation, harvesting honey. I feel like Ma Ingalls with all the action my kitchen has seen this past week. (Especially the at-home honey harvest; at which point I learned how to render bees wax. Adding to the list of exciting talents I have and can talk about at a cocktail party if I ever I should get invited to one).

If you’re curious, rendering wax consists of creating a wad of used up honeycomb that has been emptied of its sugary contents. This waxy wad gets wrapped in cheesecloth and heated in water until the solid wax liquefies. The pot is then removed from the heat to cool, at which point the wax floats to the top and solidifies, producing a round and bright yellow slab of filtered beeswax (along with one really messy pot, and cheesecloth full of bug bits).

As with this particular season’s change, I have found myself with full hands—attempting to harness the beauty and the bounty–which has been so helpful because lately I feel like my hands need things to do.

Something tangible

I can feel my hands nearly twitching in search of something beautiful to create—something concrete, and tangible in the wake of dark and ugly news.

I am slow to the table this time. Many folks have shared their reactions and opinions on matters of the Catholic Church with much more clarity and succinct thought than I’ve been able to muster. For me, the news of (another) scandal in the Church has taken some time to digest. I spent yesterday morning writing letters to our priests, Bishop, United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, and Pope Francis. It meant sitting down to constructively articulate my frustration, anger, worry, and the embarrassment I’ve felt in the wake of these dark times that have overshadowed the beauty of the place that is my refuge. It was a real, constructive, and prayerful effort.

Maybe more now than at other junctures in my life, I have given myself time to listen, read, talk, pray, and try to know what this means for me—how to respond when someone asks if/why I’m (still) Catholic; how and what to say when our littles ask why we keep praying to alleviate the hurt that some  in our Church have caused. I am a firm believer that we are more than our worst act—and that holds true for the Church. No human institution can exist apart from selfishness and corruption. This is not an excuse, only a reality that keeps staring me in the face as I squirm under the evidence of exactly that–corrupt leadership and, even deliberate harm done to others.

Sustaining Force

Thirty-four years ago this week, I was Baptized. The significance of that act and its uncanny day of remembrance is not lost on me. I was Baptized Priest, Prophet and King—the words spoken over every new Christian in the Catholic rite. I was spoken for that day, and have come to claim and re-claim that identity for myself many times since. And yet, the stakes feel higher somehow for those who continue to seek nourishment in the Sacraments,  Liturgy, and body of Christ. I’m not sure why. At my core, I know that it is a sustaining force for me.

There is a very real tenacity among those of us hangers-on, who feel in their bones the rightness, sustenance, and beauty that are to be found within the Mystical body. I also get a palpable sense of stubbornness (dare I say, leadership?) in the sense that many of those who have called the Catholic Church home, are unwilling to walk away because of the depiction of Church being generously provided by the media—that church is not the home we know, nor is it the church Christ established. For me, there is no reason to leave. Those who have been playing at a church of their own creation, left us long ago, and I imagine will formally leave us soon.

What then?

Two things are saving me right now—rending and rendering.

One idea that has resonated with me deeply is the #sackclothandashes campaign that is encouraging the faithful to offer prayer and fasting in reparation for the harm that has been done by leaders in the church we love. This is a take on an old and penitential act that included humbling oneself by the wearing of rags and being covered in ashes (think Ash Wednesday) that has received little attention in recent decades, but it is as pertinent now as it ever was. The effort began August 22 and will continue through the month of September (the month dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows). This invitation reminded me of one of the readings we hear during Lent from the prophet, Joel:

Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the LORD your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love, and he relents from sending calamity.             

–Joel 2:13

Rendering: cause to be or become; make.

What I imagine this means is that I must begin by acknowledging that my heart has indeed been broken (and that’s really only collateral damage in the wake of these events), and I’ve got to nurture that in healthy, healing ways. Next, I think that means that I am called to create, to continue to become part of what the church needs. The honey harvest and apple sauce have been a productive beginning, but busy work in the same way that I would suddenly remember that I needed to re-organize my desk when it was time to cram for a final.

Now it’s time for the real work. The rendering I imagine in this place is that of continuing to show up, allowing myself to be grown and to help shape the future Church in the ways I have the gifts to do so. Perhaps this chapter will serve as a call to return to the Lord in a new way—an invitation by default. It’s possible that like beeswax, our collective time in hot water will bring the Church to a place of new beginning, and that only the essentials that Christ intended for us to be nourished by, remain.

This is my prayer.

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May has been a beautiful, emotional kind of month already.

I told my husband on Thursday night that I feel like I’m in the middle of so many pieces of my heart right now…

An empty beehive.

An invitation to a writer’s workshop–contingent upon someone else dropping out.

Another birthday for my oldest.

Another mother’s day where my desire and my reality, don’t match (which makes me feel simultaneously thankful and selfish).

Accompanying my Goddaughter through the Sacrament of Confirmation very soon, and grappling with what that looks like to a younger child as the Denver Archdiocese has returned to the restored order of Sacraments and now Confirms third-graders.

Liminal space

This is the definition of liminal space, I’m sure, and I recognize both its necessity and potential for growth—I’d just prefer to understand it in hindsight rather than slogging through these inconvenient pulls of my heart, as ache and change tug at one another.

Swarm season

Early Friday morning, I got a message with an address, a picture of a bee swarm, and the encouragement to go and get it.

Imagining what this process would look like, I grabbed everything I could imagine one might need to wrangle 20,000 honeybees in a tree, borrowed a truck, dropped my littles off, and showed up at the address. It was easy to find in the tree next to the mailbox. I could see it from the road. I just had to stand there for a minute to take it in.

I suited up, because although generally docile during a swarm, I give critters credit to identify a rookie when they see one. Gently as I could, I swept the humming, living organism into my swarm-catching bucket and waited for the cluster of displaced bees to re-form in the tree. It was a little like catching water in a sieve—for every bee that landed in my bucket, it felt like others flew out. Eventually it dawned on me to leave the bucket open and let the bees communicate with each other. When I did this, I noticed that instead of going back to the tree, the displaced bees were turning toward their sisters in the open bucket.

After putting the bucket into the back of the truck, I drove six miles home to deliver them to my waiting hive, full of beeswax and honey from my previous hive. I remember thinking to myself, ‘Had you only known that this was on the horizon, would you have clung so insistently to that limb?’

How often am I this stubborn bee?

At one point, I tried to record what it sounded like to be in the midst of all these tiny, flying bodies. The video is not clear at all, it’s so shaky that the only thing it demonstrates is just how much adrenaline was surging through me while in the midst of this potentially scary situation.

There is something surreal about standing in the middle of thousands of stinging creatures, and recognizing both real danger and complete peace.

Thinking about it now, I can imagine the metaphor in it for me, too. God is the gentle beekeeper, slowly coaxing, patiently waiting and joyfully receiving every last one of us.

This is the truth I’ve been needing to recognize:

Life where there was no life.

Patience where I want to rush.

Opportunity to stand in the very place that  seems threatening, and feel held.

Maybe this isn’t the heart-swelling mother’s day weekend story you were expecting. Me neither. And, there’s a grace to be found in this unexpected place.

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Blessings this weekend on you, and all the women who transform the world around them with their love.

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It’s the first of July this weekend—my favorite month of the year; appropriately greeted by a maiden voyage in my canoe, followed by cold beverages in the sand. It was hot and sunny—just as it should be in my humble opinion.  Not one thing was accomplished on my to-do list today. It was perfection.

Abundance

This past week has marked a turning point in our beehive, and in our summer too, it would seem. The week of the first day of summer marks the beginning of the honey flow here in Colorado. This means that the local vegetation is exploding with blooms and that our little ladies are running themselves ragged trying to keep up with the flow of nectar and the job of turning it to honey. Thus the term: “honey flow.” As an aspiring bee keeper, I am on the lookout for what I want to do/should do/need to do/want to learn to do/should have done as it pertains to our hive to make sure the girls are healthy (and that we get to taste some honey, too).

Armed with this ‘honey flow’ knowledge, I donned my veil and headed out to the hive to add another box to give them room to store the fruits of their labor this month. In the process I found a ton of honey and nectar with little room for larva, as well as some other mysterious storage behavior in the hive. I’ve been perusing YouTube and my bee books to help me get to the root of this behavior to be able to judge it highly successful or worrisome.

My little apprentice was with me today and I was marveling at the way the bees were so gentle with us as she calmly pumped the smoker while I pulled out frame after frame, box after box for closer examination. Everything that they have worked at this season was held in the sunlight under scrutiny, and the bees remained amiable.

Under construction

Similarly, our house is under construction this week. Though we love many things about our home, some of the quick fixes of earlier owners have proved less than helpful. So, our home is stripped down, bare and ugly, exposing the things that weren’t done right the first time, in the same way the beehive has been opened up, completely exposed to the light in the hopes of a mutually-beneficial care taking.

Little Miss has spared no words describing how awful our house looks at the moment, wondering why we would ask someone to do this? I imagined the bees wondering that same thing after the thorough examination their home went through this afternoon. The beauty in both of these scenarios is that they each have good bones—a strong starting point—and therefore will not only withstand, but benefit from the attention and repair being done to make for a sturdier home in both cases.

These exposing shake-ups are great metaphors for the times I find myself scrutinized in a way I don’t like–I have to ask myself if I operate with the same wisdom. Who or what is examining the details or my life and how am I responding? Can I be open to the circumstances that reveal my weak points, really? How often do I see these details as growth to be celebrated, building upon a strong foundation?

For courage to see potential and shake-ups with the eyes of a carpenter and a bee- charmer. Amen.

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