I Don't Like Wasps

I don’t like wasps.

When I was in middle school I lived in a small town. We had a large furniture store in town that was made up of multiple connected buildings. One of the buildings had a ladder up to the roof of the store, and I’d never been on the roof of that building, other buildings, yes, but not the furniture store.

I loved being on roofs. It felt like an adventure. However, I’m also afraid of heights, so climbing up ladders terrified me. Once I was on the big flat roofs, it was like being on the ground, but with a great view.

So that’s where I was on one particular Saturday, a few feet off the ground, climbing towards the roof of the furniture store. The roof was about thirty-five feet above the ground. I had a white-knuckled grip on the side rails as I slowly climbed upwards. My eyes watched my feet to make sure I didn’t miss a step.

Slowly, I climbed, sliding my right hand up the rail. Moving my left foot up to the next step. Pushing up to bring my other foot up. Sliding up my left hand. Slowly repeating.

When I was about twenty-five feet up the ladder, I moved my right hand up the rail. Since my eyes were watching my feet, I didn’t see the large wasp nest until I hit it, and felt the first sting. There were more stings, many more.

I began climbing down, swinging wildly to try and swat away the stinging demons. I didn’t care about the height, wasn’t watching my feet, was barely even holding on to the side rails. At about fifteen feet above the ground, I gave up and jumped. The wasps didn’t even seem to notice. They just kept on stinging.

I ran to my bike, jumped on, and headed home. Some time later, I have no idea how long, I stumbled into my house. All I could say to my mom was, “Wasps.”

She put me in a ice-cold bath. My temperature was 104^o F. They found my bike about three blocks from our house. I have no memories after leaving the furniture store until I stumbled into the house.

My mom counted thirty-seven stings spread over my body. Obviously, I lived through the ordeal, but my mom was pretty worried for a while. Now, I don’t like wasps.

When I was in high school, wasps were building a hive above our front door. My friend, Curtis, decided we should get it down before I got bigger. I remembered the furniture store.

He grabbed the garden hose and turned on the water. I ran twenty yards away, and stood behind a car in the street. The blast of water from the hose blew the hive off of the house, and I watched, as if in slow motion, as two wasps made a beeline (waspline?) straight to me. I only got stung three times. Curtis didn’t get stung at all. I really don’t like wasps.

Once as an adult, we were going through a severe drought. I don’t know if you know this, but in a bad drought, your eyes may have more moisture than the environment around you. At least one wasp seemed to think so. It landed on my eye to get a drink. Out of instinct, I squeezed my eye closed. Out of instinct, the wasp stung my eye. I really, really don’t like wasps.

About once a year, wasps begin building a hive on the ceiling of our back deck. I’ve learned some things. I don’t go out on the deck. I stick my arm out the back door, which is my shield. I hold a can of wasp spray – you know the kind, “Shoots up to thirty feet!”

Then, I drowned those wasps. When they are on the ground no longer moving, I’m still spraying. I don’t like wasps.

As a rational adult, I know wasps don’t have it out for me. They are not seeking to destroy me. However, there is an enemy who is. “The thief comes to steal, kill and destroy.”

Satan has been busy lying to humanity since humanity began. He’s good at it. And, oh how we get stung. The question is, do you even see him before he stings you? Do you know how to protect yourself from him?

I don’t like wasps, but Satan stings so much worse. Be prepared.