Pay attention

The misty air was so saturated with moisture that I couldn’t tell if it was rain or humidity. The people at the early church service stared at the glass windows out of habit. Outside the sanctuary, nothing was visible except for the water droplets trickling down the glass like tears. When the cellist began to play, those of us sitting in the congregation didn’t rise to sing the words in the hymnal. We failed to miss the cue to join in celebration and listened, as if in a daze, to one loop of repeated chorus after another until at last the cellist gave up hope and silenced her instrument.

When the service ended, I walked, staying as close as I could to the overhang from the roof before crossing the path, to the education wing. Once inside, I unfolded the crinkled sign announcing “Meditation Practice,” and taped it to the inside of the window. My mind was on the routine for setting up as I returned to the table to unzip my bag and remove the iPod and little speaker.

Resting on the bag’s zipper was a large critter. I took a quick step back and then when my guest didn’t move, I stepped forward; all I could see of the head were the big black eyes. It took a while for me to recognize it as a bumblebee. Its wings were barely visible, glued to the brown body. Its legs were tucked under the body, The crusty dark brown middle looked more like a beetle than a bee. Was it asleep, newly born, or injured? It seemed frozen in place on the cloth fabric.

It’s my lesson for today on paying attention to the little things I told myself. Gently, with care not to jostle the bag, I lifted the strap of the bag and carried it outdoors. Down the ramp came Jessica with her four children, Savannah, the eldest at seven leading her little sister, Brittany, followed by William and the youngest, David, in his mother’s arms. “Good morning, Miss Linda,” Jessica greeted me as the parade marched by, no one noticing the odd way I was holding my bag at arms length.

The bumblebee and I waited. It slowly out stretched its six hairy legs and stiffly spread it’s translucent wings. “I didn’t feel like getting out of bed this morning either.” I said. I hung the bag on the railing of the ramp and reached down for a fallen magnolia leaf, and gently nudged the bee’s furry behind. It looks surprised, but not angry, then fell with a plop to the side walk. “How rude,” I thought I heard the bee mutter. But, in a few seconds, it opened its wings fully, staggered a bit and then took flight, circling high above my head, before zooming above the trees in search of nectar.

There was applause from the people who had witnessed the liberation of the bee, “You saved it, Miss Linda!” Jessica cheered. I’m sure, however, that it was the other way around. The bee had saved me.