Sting   Hebrew:  parash To cut into;  Greek: kentron. A goad or spur

Autumn is my favorite season and this year it has been  exceptional. The sun drenched days and cool nights are perfect.  Although there aren’t many deciduous tree  on our property,  the yellow green aspens and occasional fiery maples  are all the prettier for their rarity. They can stand up to any colorscape  in upstate New York or Maine. Because my flowers are still blooming and there are still veggies, especially kale and carrots , I’ve been reluctant to bed down the gardens for the winter. Nevertheless, a few days ago we agreed it was time to pull out the tomato plants.

Suddenly, a wasp flew  right at me and got me in the arm.  Ouch!  Not good. I’m allergic to bees and wasps  and while  the sting wasn’t  dangerous, I knew I’d have a reaction. First I was mad because I’ve gone all summer without being stung. Why now?  Oh, well, I knew what to do – put ice on the bite and  take an antihistamine at Dan’s insistence. It helped, but  my arm’s red and swollen up to  my elbow.  Since then, that tiny wasp’s poison has spread and itches incessantly.

I am always amazed how the smallest cut or bruise or sting can steal all of one’s  attention.  Get a hangnail or tiny paper cut, stub your toe hard enough, or wake up with  a kink in your neck or throbbing toothache and that’s all you  think about. While the rest of my body may be fit as a fiddle, a single  misery  will dominate  my thoughts.  Ever since Tuesday I just want to scratch the itch until it goes away, knowing full well that the more  I irritate the sore spot, the worse the itching becomes.  It’s a nasty cycle.

Our adversary the  devil doesn’t always show up like a wolf or ravenous lion, preying by stealth and attacking in the open.  He doesn’t always  arrange  forbidden  fruit to pop up  on the Internet or orchestrate a car accident waiting around the bend or be in the middle of the dreaded doctor’s report for he knows exactly how to take us out. When catastrophes happen,  the  mature Christian’s  trust in God  rises above the calamity. It’s in life’s every day bumpety bumps where we typically get  ensnared, especially  by offenses.

Offenses are like wasps. They fly out of nowhere, sting exactly where we’re vulnerable and leave a toxin in our souls.  Offenses are where the devil’s wasp nest  grows and misdirects us from God through   small,  irritating encounters.  We’re far more fragile than we  care to admit. An unkindness or rejection from someone we admire can torment us for days.   How often has a snarky  comment   become toxic to  our self esteem and to a  relationship?  How often does righteous criticism  from a loved one become   a sore tooth which we can’t leave alone? How often when God doesn’t answer us quickly, the devil’s right there stinging and whispering, “See, why bother praying.  He doesn’t hear you.  Or see you.“  Offenses  sting and our wounded pride keeps  scratching  and scratching at the sore spot until  the perceived offense is  ten times bigger. It steals  our peace  of mind and love  for  one another.

Psalm 91 is my go to prayer in times of trouble both great and small.  It’s a prayer for protection from the world’s wickedness and the devil’s wiles.  As we take shelter under the shadow of the Almighty,  God  protects us from the arrows which fly  by day and the  pestilence  that walks in darkness.  The Lord encharges us to angels who carry us through the rough times so that our feet would not stumble upon  the rocks  –   of offenses and temptations. He  promises that those who love His Name will trample on lions and cobras.  Therefore be still ,  know that the Lord of Hosts is with us,   forgive  every offense just as you’ve been forgiven  and in the blessed name of Jesus, smite that wasp and destroy the devil’s sting.