Well, a hornet,
really. I was doing some work on our
soffits and gutters one Saturday. In one
particular spot where I had to do a lot of work, they had made a large nest
just inside the rafter. So while I
worked I had tools in one hand and a fly swatter in the other, repairing my
home and doing battle. I only got a
couple; my hand-eye coordination was no match for their dogfighting
skills.
When I
climbed down the ladder to go work down at the other end of the house I thought
I was safe. After all, most creatures return
to their business after the threat has left.
Humans are the only animals that understand the concept of
vengeance. Or so I thought.
Fifteen
minutes later I climbed down the ladder on the end I had moved to and took a
couple of steps toward my back door. All
of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, an orangish blur swoops down from the
skies and smacks me just below my right eye.
It wasn’t until I felt the first sting that I realized that I had not
just been hit, but that it had actually latched on to my face. It seemed like my arms would not coordinate
properly as I flailed wildly, trying to smack it off of my face. (It’s
not so easy to convince your body to hit itself in the face). By the time it was all over he’d gotten me
about four or five times. All in the
same spot since he never left my face . I’m still not sure if I managed to knock him
off, or if he figured he’d owned me enough and nonchalantly flew off and
returned home, no doubt to the enchanted buzzing of his infatuated female admirers.
Reeling in
pain I staggered into the house and sent my wife to the store for some wasp
spray, while I dabbed my cheek (about 1 ½ below my eye) with Hydrogen
Peroxide. As I stood in front of my
bathroom mirror, reflecting on how my day was turning into a scene from a Chevy
Chase movie, I decided I couldn’t be mad at the wasp. He was only protecting himself and his
family. If I could recall all the times
in my life that I stung someone I’m sure I’d find I was protecting myself. Protecting my pride. Protecting myself from getting too close or
emotionally attached. Protecting my opinion or what I presumed to be my
rights. The list could go on and on.
And as I
sprayed down the wasp nest, obliterating it and anything close to it that
moved, I reflected on what I had heard said once before: that people who hurt, are hurting
people. Was I hurting whenever I stung
someone? I think it’s safe to say I
was. And if that is true for me then I
have to allow that it might be true of others who have stung me. And so I need to show grace. Even when – especially when – I am in the
greatest amount of pain.
