I’ve had my Uncle Billy on my mind lately. He was one of those people who didn’t need to try very hard to make you feel loved. He was kind, down-to-earth, gentle and about as real as they come. His wardrobe consisted mostly of old denim overalls and, when the occasion called for something a little more formal, perhaps a pair of jean cutoffs.
Uncle Billy wasn’t fancy. He was just good.
One summer, I had the opportunity to work for him as his beekeeper assistant. And by “opportunity,” I mean I was thirteen or fourteen, it was summer, it was approximately nine thousand degrees outside, and instead of being at the pool somewhere, I was wearing protective clothing while surrounded by thousands of flying insects with stingers.
Dream job.
But Uncle Billy kept bees, and that summer I got a front-row seat to a world I knew absolutely nothing about.
I learned how to smoke the bees to calm them before opening the hive. I helped pull out the heavy wooden frames filled with fresh honeycomb. And eventually, we would take those frames and spin the beautiful golden honey out of them, strain it and pour it into jars to sell at the local farmers market.
It was hot.
It was sticky.
It was fascinating.
And strangely enough, after spending an entire summer surrounded by honey, I don’t really love the taste of it to this day. Apparently there can be too much of a good thing. The strong sweet smell, the stickiness and the heat made for quite an experience.
But all these years later, I realize Uncle Billy was teaching me something much bigger than how honey gets into a jar.
He was teaching me to pay attention to the bees.
There Is a Lot Going On Inside That Hive
A beehive can look like complete chaos.
Bees are flying everywhere. Some are coming in. Some are leaving. Some are crawling over one another. There’s buzzing and movement and activity in every direction.
But it isn’t chaos at all. Every bee has a job.
Worker bees care for the hive, gather nectar and pollen, build and maintain the comb, feed the young and protect their home. The queen has her role. Even the drones have a purpose.
No bee is standing around saying, “Well, I don’t really feel like pollen today.” They simply do the work they were created to do. And I think there is something beautiful about that.
Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 12 that the body of Christ is made up of many parts. We don’t all have the same job, the same gifts or the same purpose, but every part matters.
We weren’t created to do everything. We were created to faithfully do our thing. Just like Tator Tot guy in my previous blog.
Sometimes I think we spend so much time looking at what everyone else is doing that we forget to tend to the little patch God has given us. The bees don’t seem terribly concerned about who gets credit for the honey.
They just keep showing up. Maybe there is a lesson there.
The Sweet Stuff Takes Time
Here is another thing I learned that summer.
You cannot rush honey.
A bee has to leave the hive, find the flowers, gather the nectar and bring it home. Other bees help transform that nectar and carefully store it inside those tiny wax cells. Then they fan their wings to remove moisture until eventually it becomes honey.
Did you know that it could take 1-2 weeks to get a frame that is fully filled and capped (and that’s under excellent conditions). If flowers and nectar are scarce, it can take several weeks or much longer for a full panel.
Tiny trip after tiny trip. Flower after flower. Day after day. And isn’t that so much like life? We want the jar of honey. God often gives us the bee. We want the finished product, the answered prayer, the clear direction, the beautiful ending tied up with a ribbon. But so much of what God does happens slowly.
Quietly. One tiny act of faithfulness at a time.
Galatians 6:9 tells us not to grow weary in doing good because in due season we will reap if we don’t give up. I love those words: in due season.
Not necessarily today. Not because we have decided we’ve waited long enough. In due season.
There are things God is working out in our lives that simply cannot be hurried. Sometimes our job is to keep gathering the nectar. Keep showing up. Keep praying. Keep loving people. Keep doing the next right thing. We may not see the honey yet but that doesn’t mean God isn’t making something sweet.
Sometimes You Need a Little Smoke
One of my jobs was helping smoke the bees before we worked with the hive.
I remember thinking this whole process seemed slightly ridiculous.
We are about to stick our hands into a box containing thousands of creatures equipped with tiny weapons, and our big plan is…smoke?
Great.
But the smoke helps calm the bees and makes it safer for the beekeeper to work inside the hive. I can’t help but think about how often God has had to settle me before He could work on something in my life. Because I can buzz around with the best of them. Pun intended.
I worry. I overthink. I make a plan. I make a backup plan. I wonder why God hasn’t followed either of my plans. Meanwhile, God keeps inviting me to be still.
I still remember Uncle Billy saying that the bees wouldn’t bother me. He kept assuring me the bees were perfectly safe. Apparently, if you stay calm, move slowly, and don’t give them a reason to think you’re a threat, they’re much more interested in doing their jobs than bothering with you. Easy for the beekeeper to say. I was still standing there surrounded by thousands of tiny creatures with stingers.
Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”
Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do isn’t work harder. It’s quiet the buzzing.
Trust the Beekeeper. And let Him work.
A Little Honey From Uncle Billy
I don’t remember how much money I made that summer.
Knowing thirteen-old me, I probably spent it on something incredibly important like lip gloss or candy.
But I remember Uncle Billy.
I remember those old overalls. I remember the smell of the smoke and the hum of the bees. I remember pulling those frames from the hive and seeing hundreds of perfect little honeycomb cells filled with something golden. And now, all these years later, I realize that summer gave me one of those little sursees life sometimes hands us without telling us it’s a gift.
Because Uncle Billy taught me about bees.
But he also showed me something about life. Do your work faithfully. Don’t worry so much about everybody else’s job. Be patient with the process. There is purpose in the small things.
And don’t mistake a season of waiting for a season where nothing is happening. The bees know better.
They just keep going from flower to flower, doing the tiny work in front of them, trusting that eventually all those little trips will become something sweet.
Maybe that’s what faithfulness looks like too.
And perhaps that’s why Scripture describes God’s promised land as a land “flowing with milk and honey.”
Honey is sweet. But now I think the story of how it gets that way might be even sweeter.
So here’s to Uncle Billy, old denim overalls, hot summer afternoons, thousands of bees and one slightly reluctant teenage beekeeper’s assistant who didn’t know she was learning lessons she’d still be thinking about decades later.
I still don’t really care for honey straight out of the jar, but I sure do love what the bees taught me.
