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The Parable of the Unwise Bee. By Elder James E. Talmage (–). Of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. From the Improvement Era, Sept.
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The Parable of the Unwise Bee - ensign

At the end of the day she was exhausted but this time also had a feeling of accomplishment. She had achieved her goal. The next day she followed her template again, and then again. Each day she came home exhausted but the feeling of accomplishment was weaker each day until finally it was gone. She began to wonder if she had missed something. Watching Soula dance Mindy noticed something she had missed before.


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Soula danced with joy. Now that she had seen it, Mindy began seeing joy in her other bee friends too, even when they were not dancing.

Where had they found this joy? That night when her friend came humming by Mindy stopped her again.

Three Parables—The Unwise Bee, the Owl Express, and Two Lamps

Was it on a special flower? I tried to be right like you said, but I think I missed something. Enjoy the sun and the beauty of the flowers. Mindy thought about that all night long. She flew out the next morning not knowing what to do without her template. She stopped on the first flower she saw and all the old fears held at bay by her rules came back. What if she chose wrong?

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Perhaps that was what Mindy had missed all along. Though it felt as if she were flying off a cliff Mindy took a deep breath and began to fly. The sun warmed her wings and a gentle breeze carried her further down the field. Below there was a flower she liked and Mindy landed on it. She drank the sweetest nectar she ever tasted and gathered golden grains of pollen on her legs, but when she took off again she felt lighter than ever. She visited one flower after the other that called to her. Soon, she was humming her own tune and when she returned to the hive, she danced with joy.

You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Twitter account. How many of us are wiser than the unwise bee? Sometimes I find myself under obligations of work requiring quiet and seclusion.


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I am not always without visitors, however, especially in summertime; for, when I sit with windows open, flying insects occasionally find entrance and share the place with me. A wild bee from the neighboring hills once flew into the room, and at intervals during an hour or more I caught the pleasing hum of its flight.

The little creature realized that it was a prisoner, yet all its efforts to find the exit through the partly opened casement failed.

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When ready to close up the room and leave, I threw the window wide and tried at first to guide and then to drive the bee to liberty and safety, knowing well that if left in the room it would die as other insects there entrapped had perished in the dry atmosphere of the enclosure. The more I tried to drive it out, the more determinedly did it oppose and resist my efforts. Its erstwhile peaceful hum developed into an angry roar; its darting flight became hostile and threatening. Then it caught me off my guard and stung my hand—the hand that would have guided it to freedom.