The Hornets in the Garden

Yesterday was hot.

The kind of hot that makes you want to retreat into the cool of the house with a glass of iced tea and absolutely no ambition.

My body knew it.

My heart knew it.

Everything inside me was quietly saying, Rest today.

But another voice spoke even louder.

"You need to do something today."

I've been consciously working through a childhood wound—the belief that I had to earn love by doing. If I worked hard enough, helped enough, achieved enough, maybe I would finally be worthy of being seen.

The curious thing is, I recognized that voice.

I knew exactly where it came from.

And I ignored my body anyway.

I bargained with myself.

"Just two hours of weeding."

As I've come to know, the animals, the plants, and nature have a way of giving me a gentle—or sometimes not-so-gentle—nudge when I'm missing something important.

Well...

About fifteen minutes into weeding, I noticed what I first thought was a bunch of little bugs flying around my head.

A second later, my brain caught up.

Hornets.

Then I heard one very clear message.

Run.

As I sprinted toward the gate, one hornet stung me on one hand, then another on the other.

I grabbed some plantain growing nearby, crushed the leaves into a poultice, and held them against the stings.

Then I climbed onto my tractor.

And I started laughing.

Out loud.

"Okay, Spirit," I said. "I get it."

Or at least...I thought I did.

Because despite my swollen hands, despite the message being about as subtle as a Jumbo-sized hornet, I had another idea.

"I'll just weed from the other end of the garden."

Darn free will.

Ten minutes later, my left hand had swollen so much that getting my glove off became a challenge. My thumb was the size of a Costco hot dog.

Laughing at myself once again, I finally walked back to the house, found some ice, and admitted defeat.

Or perhaps...

Not defeat.

Surrender.

As I sat there with my hand wrapped in ice, I realized the hornets hadn't interrupted my day.

They had interrupted an old story.

The story that whispered I had to keep doing in order to be worthy.

The story that began with a little girl who desperately wanted her alcoholic parents to notice her.

A little girl who believed that if she could just do enough...

Be enough...

Try harder...

She might finally receive the love she longed for.

As I sat there, I quietly spoke to her.

"I see you, little one."

"And I love you exactly as you are."

"No doing required."

What the Hornets Taught Me

One of the messages that has appeared over and over in my automatic writing is simple:

Stay curious.

Curiosity asks different questions than fear.

Instead of asking, "Why did this happen to me?" it gently wonders, "What am I being invited to see?"

The hornets weren't punishing me.

Neither was Spirit.

Neither was my body.

They were all speaking the same language.

Rest.

Sometimes our bodies whisper.

Sometimes they ache.

Sometimes life sends a hornet.

The invitation is always the same:

Will I keep proving my worth?

Or will I finally believe that I am already worthy?

Perhaps healing isn't learning how to do more.

Perhaps healing is trusting that we are lovable even when we do nothing at all.

You May Be Wondering...

Do you believe every difficult experience carries a message?

Not every experience has one obvious meaning, and I don't think every event needs to be explained. But I've found that when I slow down and become curious instead of reactive, life often reveals something I couldn't see in the moment.

Yesterday, the hornets reminded me of a lesson I'd been trying to learn for years.

Sometimes the greatest act of courage isn't pushing through.

Sometimes it's going home, putting ice on your hand, and telling the little child inside you what she has always needed to hear:

"You don't have to earn love anymore."

May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.