Crop Failure

It was a cold but sunny day when I saw him across the garden.  Strangely, I was thinking about him the day before when clearing winter debris from the lawn.  This was a couple months before the Covid crisis had grabbed the headlines. I smiled at his silhouette, a unique shape in his beekeeper garb.  Thinking back to the years before Alzheimer’s robbed my family, I remembered my dad would spot Mark and say, “There’s Mark, he does a bit of everything that guy. A clever fellow, he deals with the bees and honey and his wife makes the candles.”  I sighed, sniffed and reached my hands into the dishwater pulling another tea cup off the bottom of the sink. 

Watching Mark move around the white cubes, I noticed he was crouching behind the hive.  He stood, took a deep breath and slumped against it.  Something wasn’t right.  I finished the last of the mugs and put them on the draining rack.  Walking to the back door I found my shoes, grabbed my cuppa and headed into the garden.

“Mark!  I was thinking about you yesterday and here you are.  How are you? How are the bees?  Do you need anything?” 

He looked at me and smiled sadly, his grey hair hanging over his forehead.  “I’m afraid they didn’t survive the winter.  They are all dead.”  Only then did I notice the hive frame in his hand, scraper in the other.  Dead bees and bees wax in a pile at his feet.  “What? Oh no, wait.  What went wrong? Did they need something?” I was distressed, wondering if I should have tarped them, visited, done something to keep the creatures alive during the winter months.  “No,” Mark replied, sighing again.  “It was invasive wasps.  I’ve lost all my hives and my partner did too.  Lots of keepers round the valley did.  It was a bad year.”  And then, like he has for the past decade, he began to explain to me the life of the honey bee and what had gone wrong in the hive.  Bless his heart, he took the hive apart and showed me the forensics of his misfortune.  It was all I could do not to cry.

Running inside I grabbed my girls and fetched the wheel barrow to help Mark dismantle his gear.  Hives needed to be cleaned and stored and he walked my girls through the whole process.  Teachers gotta teach, regardless of being blessed or broken.  We did what we could to ease the burden and watched Mark load the truck.  Ten years he had raised bees in our back yard.  Ten years of hard work, love and passion now taken apart, put in a van and driving away.  The loss felt acute, intimate and hard to observe.

You might have noticed friend that I have been missing for a while.  My Sunday posts ceased when the storms in my life became overwhelming.  It has been a very difficult 18 months and it doesn’t look that the winds will cease anytime soon.  But I felt compelled to write today, because I’m grieving.*

Grief has a strange effect on the soul; it makes one all too sensitive to the misfortunes of others.  Many are sailing into storms of loss and some will take a while to recover.  Others will never recover. They will lose something precious.  They will struggle.  They will heal but some losses change you forever.  The death of a loved one, the death of anyone, alters our world.  We will experience loss. 

Today I wanted to thank those of you who are experiencing what I now call “crop failure.”  I like to think I coined the term but the first hit on google  defines crop failure as,

an absent or greatly diminished crop yield relative to expectation, caused by the plants being damaged, killed, or destroyed, or affected in some way that they fail to form edible fruit, seeds, or leaves in their expected abundance. (also known as harvest failure)

Are there any unexpected losses in your community my friend? Any disappointed hearts as this virus sweeps the globe?

Mark and many like him, invested in a passion and worked hard to make it succeed.  From the beekeeper to café owner, they have struggled and sacrificed; labored and devoted themselves to building a better community. From the teen that will lose a graduation celebration, to community actors whose plays will not run, to the bride who stayed up late with a glue gun working on some hideous crafting project involving tulle. Hours of unseen investment is seemingly going to waste as life takes a turn and robs the fruit of their labor.  Perhaps you are one of these people, bailing hard to keep your boat afloat during this storm.

Scripture houses a tiny book written during dark times.  The author, priest turned prophet, starts by asking God where he is in his time of need.  Does God see?  Does he intend to help?  The book progresses and details the authors struggle as he watches the rise of unscrupulous powers set to overthrow his people.  It voices the reality of loss and injustice in a difficult season.  The favored scripture often quoted by believers is found in the last of its 3 quick chapters. 

Though the fig tree should not blossom,

    nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

    and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

    and there be no herd in the stalls,

    yet I will rejoice in the Lord;

    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

    God, the Lord, is my strength;

    he makes my feet like the deer's;

    he makes me tread on my high places. Hab 3:17-19

I believe that these hours are not wasted though they did not yield a harvest.  Even today my girlfriend received an unkind note from a beloved adult child.  I cannot number the hours we have prayed for this young man.  Yet I know the years of sacrifice and weeping in the dark are not lost, despite his anger and frustration. God knows all that was invested.  He sees it, remembers it and can number time spent to the second.  Such loving investment is not lost, it is written on the hearts of those who received it.  It might be beyond human memory but its effects change the world for the better. 

It takes a lot to worship in the dark my friend.  My hope is that we can comfort others who are in seasons of sorrow.  That we can speak honestly to the loss they are facing, lament and cry with them.  And when the brighter season arrives, to do what we can to support their gifts and endeavors and to build up their spirits again.

So I’m praying for you today.  That you would continue to reach out to those who are grieving, to listen to their loss and to walk with them. 

Be brave. Be kind. Be amazing.

xoxKaren

*Grieving and eating way too much chocolate if I’m entirely honest.  Quarantine has me locked in a room in my house as my husband has the children playing a smash bros tournament upstairs.  I’m on my own and about to don gloves and a face mask and commence hunting for the chocolate I know he purchased when he was at the store yesterday.