bee a gift
A bee landed on a flower. She went about her work, and I wondered if she knew how big her purpose was. She was after pollen and nectar for her hive, but could she fathom the inter-species fallout if she neglected her job? Bees would starve. Flowers would die.
I doubt she’s aware of that. I bet she never worries about the flowers. I bet she is oblivious to the obvious reality that as she serves her colony she also serves the plants and the insects and the animals that depend on the plants and the people who need what the hive and the plants produce.
The bee has a narrow focus and a massive impact.
I see the bee-ness in people. I see the radiating rings of purpose surrounding them. I see the effects of their talents spiraling outward. I see their faithfulness to a specific calling and the magnitude of their influence. They are gifts to the world around them.
And maybe that means I am, too—though I struggle to see myself that way. My window view of others shows a clear picture of their significance and impact. My fun-house-mirror view of myself shows a distorted picture of my significance and impact. It’s hard for me to recognize value in my offerings.
Yet I’m strangely like the bee. I weigh my contributions on a limited scale. I fixate on what I’m taking and discount what I’m giving.
I forget . . . the bee is a gift to the flower, and the flower is a gift to the bee.