Confidence through our covenants: what I learned from beekeeping
A run in with my bees helped me realize I’d rather be confident than casual
I’m a newbie beekeeper. My dad, an entomologist with 60 years of beekeeping experience, mentors me from 2,000 miles away. For my first spring hive inspection, he coached me in advance on what to check and watch for when I opened my hive. When a beautiful sunny April day made for suitable conditions, I prepared by putting on my beekeeping suit. Already dressed in calf-high work boots, jeans, and a long sleeve shirt, with my long hair piled in a bun, I step into the full canvas suit one leg at a time. There are zippers everywhere: closing tight around the ankles of my boots, tracing all the way up the front and around the full hat and mesh veil, with velcro closing over the zippers in an extra layer of protection. The long sleeves close at the wrist with snug elastic, over which I pull on long gloves that climb nearly to my shoulders. As a hand-me-down suit from Dad, it’s large on me, but does the job. With tools in hand, I make my way to the hive.
I take my time with the inspection, first opening the top box and checking each frame to see what the bees have accomplished and what they might need. I don’t know what everything means, but I take mental notes of what I see so that I can ask Dad. Several times I wish I could take photos with my phone so I can show him, but the lack of dexterity in my bulky gloves makes that a nonstarter. After counting how many frames are built out- and with what- in the top box, I carefully replace those frames and gently remove the top box to look at the “brood chamber” or lower box. There is a lot of activity there, too, and I guess at what the different-looking cells in each frame are, knowing I will describe them to Dad for verification. By this time, my bees- though quite mild-mannered compared to what Dad has dealt with over the years- are getting annoyed with my intrusion and begin to buzz around me, with several landing on my veil and my gloves. My impenetrable bee suit gives me confidence, so I take what time I need to learn and observe, and hopefully be able to help them thrive.
Later, I call Dad with my report. He listens and considers, and tells me he thinks my bees don’t have enough honey to feed themselves… they need my help. This makes sense given what I saw in the hive. He counsels me to prepare a sugar syrup for them, and we discuss a few options to see if I can deliver it with supplies I have on hand, or if I need to purchase additional equipment.
As my Saturday continues, full of a long to do list, I keep thinking about the bees and their needs. I realize that sooner is better for them, and I should prioritize getting them the syrup today. I find a simple DIY feeder idea online and make the basic 1:1 sugar: water syrup. Delivering it to the hive should be quick and easy, and it’s heading toward evening, so I hurry outside and enlist my husband to be on standby at a distance with the shims I will need. I grab my soft leather riding gloves that give me good use of my hands, and bypass the garage where my protective equipment is stored.
The bees are tolerant as I stand to the side to remove the lid, and then the inner cover. There, a lot of bees are visible at work, on top and between the frames. I’m trying to figure out how to place this syrup, analyzing and considering how to make it fit and work within the setup. I’m trying to help them, but I’m uncertain what to do. The bees’ patience with my intrusion eventually runs thin and soon the buzzing and flying around my uncovered head begins. It doesn’t take long before I am swatting my hair, which is now flying loose from the topknot and entangled with bees. I move away from the hive, flip my head over and keep trying to extricate bees from my hair. You can imagine how this goes. It doesn’t end as badly as it could, but certainly not pleasantly, either.
In a flash, gone is the luxury of taking my time to figure out what I need to do. Vanished is the confidence that I felt when safely cocooned in my protective suit. I am no longer secure. Instead, I am in danger. I am in a panic to close up the hive- with or without delivery of the sugar syrup- and survive this bee encounter.
In my hurry, I had become casual, and bypassed the steps that provide protection. I know the role of protective equipment; I know I should wear it and why it matters. But I thought one quick little jaunt would be okay, without consequences. On the contrary, my casual approach led to pain and difficulty.
Like a bee suit, covenants with God give us confidence through their protective power. Honoring and keeping covenants provides a shield… against an agitated bee, or an angry mob, or the vagaries and temptations and challenges of life. When we become casual about our covenants and fail to “suit up,” we lose that protective power.
Facing the consequences of my casual approach, I felt panic and pain rather than curiosity and confidence. Choosing comfort and convenience over covenant keeping means our access to help beyond our own is limited. A run in with my bees taught me that I would rather be confident than casual. I would rather be armed with the protective power of my covenants.
The world is laden with distractions that can deceive even the elect, causing them to be casual in living their covenants…. If we are not careful in living our covenants with exactness, our casual efforts may eventually lead us into forbidden paths… (Becky Craven)