Be Still

This week I am taking a class for work at the University of Montana in Missoula.  It is a gorgeous campus, with walking trails and bountiful nature all around.  Adjacent to the building where the ecosystem restoration class being held is a raised bed garden with glorious wildflowers.

Being who I am, I immediately began scouting the flowers to see the bees.  And there were none visible.  I scanned from right to left, front to back, and was just amazed that in all of this gorgeous flora, with all of their delicious nectar, there was not one bee. 

So I started scanning flower types.  I know that lavender is a prime source of nectar, so I went to one patch, and then the next.  No bees.

Bees love purple flowers (they can't see red), so I focused in on the next set of flowers.  Still no bees.   

It made no sense.  I had even seen some hives as I was driving in to campus, so I know that they are present.  Further, the window of opportunity for bees in this area of the country is pretty small (I think that their winter begins next week).  So the bees should just be covering every flower, competing for the opportunity to pollinate and drink deeply from the gorgeous blooms.

Nothing.  

Perplexed, I just stopped and stared at the garden.  About four seconds later, I saw motion out of my peripheral vision.  I tracked the movement and smiled when I saw my first bee, as she lit on a white flower.

As I watched that beautiful little girl dipping flower after flower, I saw motion to my right.  To my left.  Above.  Below.  Right at my fingertips.  Everywhere, there was motion.

I was amazed.  Somehow, I had totally missed it.

This is not the first time I have had a hard time spotting bees.  Almost every single time that I am called out to someone's house to do a bee removal, I scout the entire property, looking up and down for the entrance with bees.... and I only manage to see them when they are pointed out.  Even swarms, where there is a huge amount of bee activity, poses an observation problem to me. I have a blind spot for a group of creatures that I love.

I am convinced that it is a matter of being still.

I am, at my core, a pretty lazy guy.  I would rather sit than stand, and I would rather stand than walk.  But even when being still, I am not still.  My mind is trying to take in all of the visual cues I receive, and I jump from one thing to the next, making connections and asking questions and flitting from one idea and observation to the next, sipping from each flower in turn.

As a result, I am seldom truly still.

But then when I am still and quiet, an entire world opens up to me.  I begin to see things that I missed.  Small actions that I had not noticed.  My peripheral vision pulls in information that my frenetic brain did not process.

Some 3000 years ago, the Psalmist wrote, Be still, and know that I am God. 

I suspect that, just as I do with the motion of the bees, that I miss God a lot.  In my action-packed, schedule-filled week of activities, I jump from one bit of work to another, and one bit of fun to the next.  And in all of that action and motion, I forget to take a moment, to take a breath, and truly be still.  To quiet my mind.  

This week, I will try and do better.  I will look and listen to those around me, to stop long enough to let my soul begin to sense what my eyes filter out.  This week, I will quiet my brain and actually work at being still.

To observe the motion around me, and be amazed.