Bea Sharp fluffed up her wings and straightened her antennae in the light of the dew on the leaf.
“Get over here, Sue! Make sure you bring your comb and razor-sharp clippers. I want my hair cut in the latest buzz style,” Bea ordered, as she tapped her foot impatiently.
Sue quickly gathered all the tools she needed and flew to the queen’s beauty parlor. Nobody kept the queen waiting, unless, he or she wanted an earful of stinging comments.
“Sally, has the whole brood been fed?” Bea inquired. “You know how they get if their meal is even a minute late.”
“Has the honeycomb wall been repaired?” she turned and asked Debbie. “We don’t want to lose even a drop of honey.”
“She shouted over the din to Crystal, Mary, and Lynn, some of the more experienced workers on her staff. “Go collect some more nectar, pollen, and water.”
Now Bea could get down to the business—laying eggs. In her hay day, she could lay nearly two thousand eggs a day, seven days a week. She had slowed down a little because of her age, but she still remained a force to be reckoned with. Because this frantic pace never ceased, Bea’s home was always a hive of activity.
One spring day when the workers were canvassing the area, she decided to get some fresh air. She was traveling so quickly, she almost crashed into Imma Dull, who was chewing on a milkweed leaf and mulling over God’s Word.
“Get out of my way, Imma. I don’t have time to wait for you to inch your way along. I am in charge of a large colony of workers and after all—time is honey.”
“Can’t you hear the music, Bea? Creation’s harmonies are all blending together into the greatest symphony in the world.”
“You’re such a … worm,” Bea sputtered, I simply can’t waste my time on such utter nonsense.”
“You need to slow down, Bea. You’re not as young as you once were. Remember, sometimes you need to quit worrying and just smell the flowers. There’s a verse in Luke: “Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing. Yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are.”
“I have felt God changing my life day-by-day. I have been shedding off my old skin and becoming a new creation,” Imma continued.
“Well to me, you are and always will be a wiggling dullard.”
Two weeks later, Bea noticed that Imma was encased in some type of brownish tomb. For once, she would not have to listen to Imma’s discourse.
Another ten days went by and Bea could not believe her eyes. For Imma had emerged from the brown shell. She was no longer a dull worm, but had transformed into a lovely butterfly.
In honor of the metamorphosis, her name was changed from Imma Dull to Beauty Full. All the insects gathered together to celebrate. The bees were humming the melody; the cicadas’ tymbals were clicking; the stoneflies and lacewing were drumming; the orb weaver spiders were plucking their web strings and the grasshoppers, katydids, and crickets were singing.
Bea realized her life was soon coming to an end. It was almost time to lay her last eggs and appoint the new queen. It was never too late to do what was right, so she flew to the first lily she could find and drank in the sweet fragrance of the King.
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