It’s time to talk about bees again. It’s a perfectly normal and reasonable testimony topic. I can hardly remember a monthly fast Sunday meeting where bees weren’t brought up at least twice. So, when it comes right down to it, I am forced to admit that Nate has a point when he tells me not to talk about things because I sound “nuts.”
I guess the first time he said that to me was in reference to the dream I had that led us to Rexburg in the first place. But Nathan applied for the job in Rexburg and received no response. It was because I had received a strong spiritual impression that I jumped through hoops to get him that job. And, if we’re being completely honest, even though Nate thinks I’m a little crazy when I talk about the miracles in my life, he has never declined to follow my spiritual impressions. When I told him that God wanted us in Lincoln, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” and accepted the job that same hour. I think we both get credit for that. You see, I have come to a very clear conclusion about acting on perceived spiritual impressions.
You get credit for trying.
So, if you wake up tomorrow with the absolute certainty in your heart that God wants you to eat ice cream for breakfast, and then you immediately wonder if you are being completely crazy for assuming such a silly thing is from God, and then you go get yourself a huge bowl of Rocky Road just in case...God acknowledges that (whether He sent the impression or not) you are doing your very best to do what you think He wants you to do. I believe you get the points in that case. I have decided to act on every impression because I desperately need extra credit in this class.
Furthermore, let’s never forget Doctrine & Covenants 59:21. Always default to giving the Lord his due.
Let’s talk about bees…again.
Two weeks ago my rock, Quentin, started his mission. He had already told his seminary class that last year he was absolutely certain he did not want to serve a mission. He explained that Chloe’s suicide attempt had been a great trial for him. When he came across a scripture that promised missionaries that their families would be blessed, he began to rethink his plan. In his words, “I started to think that my family could use some of those blessings.” With the encouragement of a wonderful bishop and the momentum of an incredible patriarchal blessing, Quentin made the decision to turn in his papers and give two years of his life to God. He consecrated two years of his life because God had promised to bless his family. Those words are almost overwhelming to write.
And so it was that two days after he was set apart as a missionary, his dad got fired from his job.
Yup. He’d completed exactly one day of those two years and instead of seeing promised blessings, he went into his room to pack up a few of his most treasured things. He had not previously packed up anything in preparation to leave for two years. Rather he had chosen the tactic of making me promise that his room would be untouched while he was gone. He wanted to come home to exactly what he had left behind and I promised to do my best to make sure it happened. Except it wouldn’t. So he found himself a box and took a few of his treasures and packed them away so that when we moved, those things would be as safe as he could make them. He didn’t get angry and demand to know where the promised blessings were. He chose faith, again.
As for me, the thought of uprooting my family once more and potentially hauling Evie across the country at exactly the same age I had done it to Chloe wasn’t fun. There were a million other considerations too, and each one seemed to add weight to my already broken heart. But nothing felt as heavy as worry that my sweet Quentin would feel betrayed by the God he had chosen to serve. Close behind that pain was the reality that God was taking away from me the one thing that had held me even remotely together: My seminary class. Quentin and Seminary…the two things that God had put in my life before it collapsed because nothing surprises God, and He knew exactly what I would need.
On Friday, Nathan had slipped into despondency. There was no sense of purpose or anxiousness to solve our new problem. He didn’t seem to be able to do anything but mourn his own self worth. He would later tell me that all he could think of in those days was, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I was sitting in the living room. He was on his chair. I was trying to coax him into conversation. Out of nowhere, I had one of those, “pure knowledge” moments. It filled my body from head to toe. I knew that God was speaking to me. I knew what he was saying. “This is not a trial. This is not a test. You will be happier because of this. This is a reward for your faithfulness.”
Huh. Ever since moving to Nebraska, I had one specific gospel message I liked to repeat. People love to teach that God is planning something better for your future. They say that when you experience difficult trials, He sometimes takes away what you love so that He can give you something better. But Nebraska isn’t better than Idaho. And my life for the past five years was not better than my life before. You see (as I explained every chance I got) the Lord isn’t interested in giving you something better. He’s interested in making you something better. Sometimes that means taking away things that you love. Sometimes that means you have to hurt.
The parable of Job is not meant to teach us that if we endure a temporary trial, we get double blessings in the end. Remember that Abraham died owning only the land on which his wife was buried. It took literal centuries for his descendants to inherit the land he was promised. His life was kind of terrible right up until the end. But, through those trials, he became worthy to inherit the kingdom of God. I never wanted people to think my testimony was that we would be blessed with what we wanted because we endured our trials well. That kind of thinking leads people away from God if they do not immediately receive the blessings they expect. I wanted very much to show the Lord that I would be forever faithful and expect nothing in return. Well, “nothing” isn’t true. I know he’s carried most of my burden through every trial. I’ve never been alone.
I know, I know…way too much rambling…not enough bees. Almost there.
On Tuesday, Quentin was set apart as a missionary. On Thursday, Nathan lost his job. The following Tuesday, Nate, Evie and I got up at four in the morning to put Quentin on an airplane to Salt Lake City to start his in-person MTC training. After a difficult goodbye, I went to teach my seminary class. We returned home afterward to his empty bedroom with one packed box of his most treasured possessions sitting at the foot of his bed.
A couple hours later, Lachlan came inside to report that there were bees in the yard and they were acting crazy.
We only had one hive, but it was a strong one that had survived the winter and produced well. They were native Nebraska bees, which matters because none of the hives we had purchased had survived. We had gone through an infestation of wax moths a few years ago which had destroyed not only the colonies, but also the beautiful wooden hives that Nathan had made himself.
On that lovely Tuesday, right after putting Quentin on a plane to Utah, with our lives in shambles, we watched as a swarm of bees swirled around the back yard and took up residence on a bush that was barely budding in the spring weather.
I have had experiences with bees before. God has used bees to help me understand that he knows me. This could not be a coincidence. Just days before, God promised me that this trial would bring happiness. Quentin stepped out into the mission field with perfect faith, expecting the promised blessings for his family. And, to make perfectly certain there was no confusion, God, once again, sent the bees. Adelaide and Nathan suited up. They caught the swarm and put them in a hive box. They took to it immediately. They didn’t even try to leave.
Except…this time, I started with one hive and suddenly I had two. God promised this trial would bring more happiness, but that was long-term, right?; dared I believe that sometimes the story of Job played out as written?
That’s not the end of the story.
Less than a week after we caught the swarm, seminary ended. It was a really hard time for me. I wanted so much to feel like God had given me a work to do with those kids. I wanted to believe that my calling mattered. Leaving after two years, not even getting to see any of them graduate or get called on a mission, was very painful. Nathan was feeling a bit better. He was in talks with half a dozen sites, trying to find a new job. He had already scheduled some locums to keep the bills paid in the meantime. Quentin seemed to be doing well in the MTC. Although there were to be so many difficult times in the upcoming months, things were looking up and everyone was feeling a bit better about the uncertainty.
It was the following Wednesday, one week to the day after Quentin had entered the MTC, that Evelyn ran inside to report that the bees were acting crazy. I stepped outside to a familiar scene. It was the same bush. It had to be the same swarm, right? They had left their hive? Nathan inspected the swarm and then suited up to look inside the empty? beehive they had absconded from. Except it wasn’t empty. It was teeming with bees. Nate found brood and lots of new comb. He checked the other hive, the older one. That colony was doing fantastic. It was unbelievable. This was another swarm. A week later. On the same bush. I don’t think God wanted me to be able to pretend any of this could be anything but a message from Him. This time Rhianna suited up and, once again, the bees settled seamlessly into their new home.
Two weeks ago we had Quentin, Seminary, a good job, and one beautiful beehive. Now there are three.
So here’s my testimony. God speaks to His children. He speaks to us each differently. Never make the mistake of thinking that he doesn’t talk to you because you don’t experience it the way somebody else does. He sends a still small voice. He sends a burning in the bosom. He sends dreams. He sends friends. He sends pure intelligence. He sends angels. He sends warnings. He sends peace. And sometimes…for the really spiritually dense, He sends bees.
