because he was once stung by a bee, my son
having forgotten the pain, but remembering the fear
comes running in search of salvation, begging for protection
from the winged body caught
behind the double glazing, only a few inches
from its freedom
the bee is tired, almost ready
to give up
and i, a body of memories, a visceral journal
know that what is needed now, is hope
on the kitchen table is a note
from a friend across an ocean, describing a kindness
for which i am still so grateful, and also
within arms’ reach, the jar of honey
that sweetens my tea
when the bee smells the small drop, the amber
on the card
he yields, as if by magic
to the help

{i am showing him the way with honey made from bees
that he will never know, perhaps even bees
from across an ocean, and he, in turn, is showing me
how to surrender, how to accept when i am given help}

a gift, to be honest, perhaps even God
is standing right here, leading the student
to the teacher
this is how my life goes
i am always being shown how to soften, how to fold
i forget that i am writing stories
with my life, even
without my mouth saying a single word, stories
that my son reads with only his eyes, calculating
his way across the map of his life

{i am showing him the way with kindness from soft bodies
that he will never know, perhaps even bodies
from across an ocean, and he, in turn, is showing me
how to ask for help, how to surrender when i am afraid}

the offering of honey, has somehow fallen onto the note card
just above the word, ‘blessing’, there are reminders of how the bee walked sweetness all over the curved letters of my friend’s writing

and then, my son, ten thousand fears falling to his side
tiptoes into the kitchen
together we watch the bee find its own way out of the kitchen,
again, like magic, a new story
starts to shape itself inside my boy’s mouth
words like, ‘we saved him! look! he is flying home!’
how it sounds a little different to the
fear of before, and isn’t this what we are here for?
isn’t this what hope is for?

© Liezel Graham 2023

when my son was about four years old, he was stung on his ear, by a bee. ever since then, his relationship with bees has been one of fear, remembering how it felt when he was stung. he loves bees, but preferably in picture books, and so when he came running to tell me that there was a bee in the kitchen and that he ‘needed saving’, a beautiful story unfolded. the closest thing to hand was a note card that a friend in America had sent to accompany a gift.. an out-of-print book which she had bought for me, simply out of kindness, and this is the kind of person that she is! her life is shaped around being kindness and a shower-of-the-way to grace and to hope. once i had put some honey on the card and encouraged the tired bee onto it, things started to improve quickly for that tired little fuzzy body who was losing the will to live in his fight to escape the double glazed window.

it wasn’t long before the little bee could fly off and my son could watch his escape to freedom. how we changed the story to one where we were not at the mercy of a memory, or a fear. how, in kindness, we could change the outcome of the story for one little bee, but also, for a boy.

and, of course, the boy’s mom, who is always being shown things, very often in her kitchen, that place where even God likes to visit for tea.

for more of my writings on bees, because they are so special to me, actually, sacred, you might want to explore this post: https://liezelgraham.com/2021/02/20/when-the-bees-came-to-find-me-with-news-of-god/

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