Samuel and I are learning about pollination.
So imagine our surprise, when on one of spring's first warm days, the Lord brings this bee to our table.
The boys and I are having lunch outside, and the visitor comes. There's a flat of flowers at the table's center, and the bee hovers close.
"Look, Mom," Sam says. He points.
Chatter stops, sandwiches rest on paper plates, and we watch.
This bee has our full attention. Three been-in-school-all-morning boy bodies are suddenly still.
The bee buzzes. Moves about the petals. He plunges deep and stays. When he pulls away, when he's slowly circling these flowers again, his tiny legs are covered with bright yellow pollen.
Zay laughs. "Hey guys," he says. "This bee has yellow fuzzy boots."
And I'm amazed.
I'm amazed at this bee in boots, but I'm more I'm amazed at this perfect timing. First spring day. First bee we've seen. Right on the heels of a lesson from a book.
I'm moved by this tender teaching. By this sweet, small grace.
I see You here, God. I see Your activity. I see Your goodness at this table today.
I watch my boys. The lesson is not lost on them. Their eyes are bright and their smiles are slow and they know that they're seeing something wonderful.
Teach me like this, Lord. Let me see You. Teach me how to live. Teach me Your ways. Be as personal, as intimate, as You are with us now.
The bee stays with us for a bit. Then, as swiftly as he came, he's gone. The boys finish their lunches and then they're off, too.
But something inside me is different. This lunchtime lesson stays.
He's compassionate to teach us through the small stuff.
He'll guide us through the big things, too.
I gather nibbled sandwich crusts. The boys have forgotten to pick up their plates.
Small graces and tender teaching.
What a wonderful, wonderful way.
Show me your ways, LORD, teach me your paths. Psalm 25:4