I don’t remember how long I bowed before that rose. It was an eternal moment, measured not by the hands on a watch or the rising of the sun by simply for what it was: worship. I grew more captivated with the rose until finally my hand began to draw itself closer to that beloved object. When I saw the motion, it was too late. The buzz emanating from the rose’s center rose to a deafening level by the time it collided with my bare wrist.
I do not recall whether or not I ever saw the bee; it may well have lingered to witness the torment it caused, or perhaps it fled the scene of its victory, it matters not. All I can recall is the pain that shot from my wrist through my arm and then throughout my body; I could not differentiate or isolate the pain. My entire body was entombed in a shroud of pain, and I staggered to my feet and moved with violent jerks and wild thrashing as my cries rose to the heavens. My eyes watered in pain as anguish washed over me.
Why, my mind screamed, does such suffering come to one so eager to serve? Why should terror and fear dominate in this moment, when I have finally begun my labors? For so many years I carelessly neglected care of this beautiful patch and no harm fell across my path, but now, as I have started to work, I have suddenly been afflicted with this most violent wound. I stare at the reddening spot on my arm, swelling with fluid, and I moan in self-pity and pain.
Why should such a thing happen here and now, in the moment of my worship, as I admired the beauty the Lord had created? Why do beauty and harm inhabit such neighboring territories? Should beauty not have chased harm far from this place? Is not the presence of these weeds punishment enough? Do physical torment and pain have to accompany the process? I had expected to be weary from my labors, but at no point did I believe that God would let such suffering as this bee sting cross my path.
Questions flood my mind, crowding out the pain and leaving only supplication. I find myself at the gate, the starting point for this journey: my legs have carried me back here, tempting me to flee this place, beckoning me to the easy way, the one with little resistance and no challenge. Surely pain can escape me there. But I peer back at the beauty and know.
Even though it has brought pain into my life, there is no other way. No other pursuit can bring such peace into my life. It is hard to acknowledge this as my arm throbs in pain, but something assures me that the Lord hears my prayers for peace, my longing for safety, and that despite my struggles, despite my pains, the Lord will accept my prayer and continue to lead me forward. I did not expect this pain, nor do I enjoy it, and I do not doubt that it will reoccur, but I pray that the Lord will conquer, will protect, will encourage me to continue to go forward.
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