Suckin' Up Honey

What is your perspective? ‘Life sucks’ or ‘Suck up life’? That’s kind of a crude play on words, but what I’m getting at is that it’s so easy to fall into the pattern of looking at the negatives. But if we do that, we get malnourished. We fail to “suck up,” or drink in, life.

Honeybees collect pollen, which is used to pollinate other plants; but they also suck up nectar, which is used as food for the entire colony. Pollen is actually a vital part of the honeybee’s diet—it is carried back to the comb in hairy receptacles on their hind legs. But you see, it has to be taken in (consumed) in order for it to then produce any good to continue the plant growth cycle or be of benefit to the honeybees’ offspring. The process is better explained in this statement found at honeybeesuite.com: “Most of the pollen is eaten by nurse bees. They use the nutrition absorbed from it to secrete royal jelly from their hypopharyngeal glands. The jelly is fed to young larvae, including workers, drones and queens.”

Nectar, which is consumed in fair amounts (but not to gorging proportions), is actually the sweet water that collects on plants such as flowers. It is nectar that is used by the bees to make honey, a daily and major part of the honeybee’s diet. According to honeyapiary.com, “Not only is honey hydroscopic and easily digestible, but at the same time it also has great antibacterial properties that keeps the bees in good health.”

For honeybees, pollen is the essence of life. Without it, the bees wouldn’t be adequately nourished and there wouldn’t be plants to get nectar from, and without nectar…no honey.

Just how does this relate to us, you may be wondering. What is our life source (or rather, who)? God the Father has our very lives in the palm of His hand, and without His Master Plan of Christ’s sacrifice, we would have no eternal life.

What is our nectar—something (in our case, someone) we aren’t meant to just experience for ourselves but are to give out so that it can be “food for the entire colony.” The Holy Spirit! He is the one who leads us into all truth and enables us to minister to one another, by His equipping and leading, throughout the entire body of Christ (colony). We give out of the great abundance of the Spirit in us, not of our own strength and wisdom. It’s from what we’ve “stored up” in Him through our fellowship with Him.

And what (who) is our honey? Jesus. Without Him, our spirits are in poor health—and actually, dead. His personal relationship with us is sweeter than honey. Psalm 19 talks about God’s law as more to be desired than gold and sweeter than any honey or drippings of the honeycomb. Proverbs 24:13 admonishes, “My son, eat honey, for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste” (ESV). Not only are we to take in (suck up) God’s written word, but we are to taste and see that the living Word, our Lord Jesus, is good. Many times in the Bible, honey is seen as a life-sustaining source, almost like manna in its significance. It was one of John the Baptist’s primary foods. In order for John to fulfill his calling, he had to be nourished. In order for us to fulfill ours, we must also be nourished—by His Spirit and by His Word.

That means…we should be spitting out those things that do not produce a good taste—those things that are contrary to the Word of God and His plans for us—which are to prosper us, not to harm us—to give us a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). If we believe that with all our hearts, we will reject the ‘life sucks’ mentality in favor of the opportunity to “suck up life.” And where do we go for that?

To the Rock of our salvation—Jesus. When things look bleak, ugly, impossible, and downright depressing, we need to pray, “Lord, your kingdom come; your will be done—right here, just like it is in heaven.” When we put our trust in Him, the hope we find “does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Romans 5:5, NIV).

So you see, like the honeybee, there is an intertwined system of surviving and thriving in our lives. And ours comes through Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, to the glory of God the Father. But we must suck it up—there is more at stake than just us—there’s a whole colony waiting to be filled, and still others who don’t yet know how good God is. We can’t afford to waste time on what does not satisfy (Isaiah 52:5). “Only listen to me,” the Lord says, “and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare” (vs. 5b).

We can’t stay in our pits of despair when there is honey—for us—in the Rock, and the Rock is Jesus.

Underwear

1. 
   

   

   
   
   From a fig leaf to a loin cloth,
   To a woolen Greek chiton
   While in Rome some men wore “shorts”
   When they had a toga on,
   Which around the 13th century
   Were replaced by baggy drawers
   That field workers wore for modesty
   And coolness out of doors
   Then in Europe came cod pieces,
   Stockings, corsets, undershirts
   While Victorian undergarments
   Functioned very much like skirts
   With the cotton gin invention,
   Lightweight fabrics took the stage
   And the union suit was born,
   Made by Hanes—and all the rage
   Then in the 1930s
   ‘Boxers or briefs?’ became the query
   And the new word underpants
   Was entered in the dictionary
   World War Two American soldiers
   Got ‘long johns’ upon assignment,
   Followed by tricots and stretch briefs,
   A new-improved refinement
   Soon color and pattern and fabric
   Made underwear artistic sport,
   And the comfort of Lycra and Spandex
   Would offer close-fitting support
   Bikinis, thongs, and G-strings
   Took the mystery factor out
   And gave us cause to question,
   ‘What is underwear about?’
   You see, though we cannot see it
   History’s always in the makin’
   With new products being born
   And new opportunities taken
   And though such undertakings
   Often catch us unaware,
   These words take on new meaning—
   Truly: “Change your underwear.”

Ode to Us

We are different, you and I

Almost like night and day

You see the black and white

While I perceive the gray

You bowl with striking skill

Whilst gutter balls I master

But if the game is word play,

Then I can do it faster

Your engineering mind’s

An enigma to my brain,

But I build scrapbook pages—

Which to you would be a pain

You’re quite a fan of pork—

It doesn’t thrill me much

But I love Brussels sprouts,

Which you will never touch

I have a taste for spice,

Like salsa, peppers, curry—

But “hot as ketchup” suits you,

Or else there’s cause for worry

Your penchant is for justice,

And mine is mercy-filled

You protest Country music,

And your bias won’t be killed

But we have some things in common

Like our love of good Sci-fi,

Our desire to help the needy,

And our taste for berry pie

We both enjoy the snow,

Weekend-cations at the coast,

Anything our kids have painted,

And a breakfast of French toast

We both are fans of Tolkien—

And enjoy the movie depictions

And regarding what’s important,

We hold the same convictions

We both like food too much,

And we like the color black

And neither is fond of living

Right next to a railroad track

We speak in movie quotes

And randomly spout puns

We finish each other’s thoughts

With accuracy that stuns

In our ways, we’re each particular,

If not a bit obsessed,

But we share one primary preference—

We each love the other best

Blog-a-rhythm

People start blogs for a variety of reasons. For me, it was a chance to let my voice be heard. When I started, I honestly wasn’t sure what I’d have to say week after week. But I found I had a great deal to say—some trivial, some motivational or encouraging, some revealing. And I found that I could write about many more things than I had previously thought. Blogging helped me to diversify my writing.

Having a “voice” was one thing, but as I gained momentum, I found that I wanted to use blogging as a tool for building others up, identifying with them, and causing them to possibly even think in new ways. I have received some wonderful feedback since I started my blog, which lets me know that in some small way it has made a difference.

And for me, it has made a difference as well. It has kept me writing, even when I haven’t felt like it. It has boosted my confidence. And it has kept me challenged—I mean, I don’t want to just prattle on about the same things all the time—or things people don’t really care about. Blogging has been a way to take ownership of my writing. My audience may be small, but I love that others sometimes share what I write with others. That tells me I’ve succeeded in my goals.

I would definitely say blogging is good for you. It feeds the soul, and it can be an outlet for the spirit—for those things that God has put inside you to be transformed into just the right words that will touch someone in exactly the right spot. I love that!

Blogging has become part of the rhythm of my life. It helps keep me going. No matter what else may be going on, I know I can write my blog. It gives me something to look forward to.

Blogging isn’t for everyone. Some may see it as pointless if they’re looking for a means to an end. For me, it’s more like a battery to fuel my thoughts and spark creativity—so that I keep writing…and writing…and writing.

The Fireplace: Installment Seven

After Mary had been duly congratulated, it was time for some “down time,” which meant that Margaret would start lunch preparations while the others played games, read books, or worked on projects. Paula, who had been uncharacteristically tired the night before, settled into the puffy brown easy chair and was quiet—also unusual. Jon, always the attentive husband, went to her side to make sure her feelings hadn’t been hurt or something. “Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, squatting down and taking her hand.

“I just don’t feel very well,” she grimaced. “I decided I’d better sit down and see if it passes. I don’t want to alarm anyone.” She attempted a smile, but it wasn’t a heartfelt one; Jon could tell by the sadness in her deep blue-green eyes. Paula hated to be sick, and she hated to miss out on fun.

“You should go lie down,” Jon gently suggested.

“Maybe you’re right,” his wife surprisingly agreed, allowing him to help her up. As Paula slowly headed toward the stairs, Jon reasoned that she really must be feeling out of sorts. But she was always so healthy. What could she have caught? He doubted it was food poisoning. They’d only eaten his mother’s home-cooked provisions for the past twenty-four hours. This was a puzzling turn of events indeed.

§

            At lunchtime, Jon went to fetch his wife, knowing his mother’s homemade four-cheese pizza with onion confit base was one of her absolute favorites. He stroked her hair, waking her up gradually. She confessed that she still didn’t feel well but would try to rejoin the group. Once she got halfway down the stairs, though, the strong cheese aromas took their toll. Paula raced back up the stairs, hand over mouth, making it to the bathroom just in time.

            Jon explained to the family that Paula wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be joining them for lunch. “What a shame,” lamented Margaret. “I wanted to talk to her more about her ideas for a decorating business. And of course, I enjoy her company. Hopefully she’ll feel better by evening.” Jon shrugged, meaning that he hoped so too but recognized he had no control over such matters.

            It was just two days until Christmas, and the snow kept falling. The Wollersheim Winery would be giving a free wine and cheese tour today, and Margaret had high hopes that everyone would want to go. All who were present at the lunch table gave hearty agreement. Paula was the only question.

            “It starts at three o’clock, so we’d need to leave in about an hour,” Margaret directed.

            “I don’t think Paula will be able to go,” Jon offered sadly.

            “I’ll go up and talk to her,” Margaret determined, picking up a nearly-empty bowl of parmesan and heading toward the kitchen. She had another reason as well.

§

            Margaret tapped lightly on the upstairs bedroom door and was greeted with a faint “Come in.”

“Hello, dear. The rest of us are getting ready to head to a wine and cheese event at Wollersheim. I’m thinking you’ll probably stay here and rest, but I wanted to check on you.”

Paula, who would normally jump at the chance to taste fine wines and cheeses, groaned a bit. “Oh, I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound appealing at all at the moment. I guess I’d better stay behind.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, would you describe how you feel as ‘not really sick in the viral sense but more queasy?”

“Yeah, that pretty much describes it. I don’t feel like I do when I have the flu, yet I’m so nauseous, I…” Paula paused, beginning to realize where her mother-in-law was going with this.

Their eyes met, Margaret’s tender and Paula’s more startled. “Well, if I had to guess—and though I’m no expert, I have a bit of experience—I’d say you’re expecting.”