They Know Not to Mess With You

I must go pick raspberries. The patch appears more bee than berry, and I’m deathly allergic. I have my epi-pen ready.

I wade into the patch and the bees swarm about me. I don’t even pay attention to them. This is my territory, folks. Don’t mess with me.

I’m amazed at my own courage. 

I pick with confidence. I pick with authority. “Excuse me, little bees, but I have a harvest to gather here.” 

I pick a bowlful and notice how the bees actually avoid me. They actually seem to fear me.

I think of my own spiritual life. When I wade into my day with confidence and authority–because God is with me–I feel the difference. I don’t let spiritual assaults hinder me.

Don’t mess with me. I have a harvest of God’s fruit to gather. 

_________________________
I’m beginning to think that bees know when you mean business!

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