When I was a little boy, my father was assigned to pastor the cutest little white country church you've ever seen. It had a steeple with a bell and everything. Critically for me as a 10-year-old, you rang that bell by pulling on an old rope that led all the way to the top of the steeple.

How I lusted to pull that rope!

We lived next door, and sometimes I sidled by the door to the steeple eyeing that rope, blinking, daring myself to pull it.

On snowy Sunday mornings when I was actually allowed to, I'd get that bell going and sometimes it would pull me up and down on the rope as it rang.

Then summer came. Hot weather arrived, school was out, and the temptation of that swinging rope was as exponentially greater as the increase in my free time.

Wait, does this have anything to do with stings?

Of course! One fine summer day when my best friend was visiting, I just couldn't take it anymore. I snuck him into the steeple and together we rang that bell, louder and louder and louder. Farmers for miles must have wondered what was going on.

My friend and I took off running and screaming, though not because we were afraid of being caught by my mother, which we were.

We ran because a swarm of hornets that had apparently taken up residence in the steeple were defending their home with fierce and unrelenting vigor.

If I told you we ran for miles, that would probably not be completely honest, but to a couple 10-year-olds, that's certainly how far it felt.

And my mom? After she soothed our stings and made sure we were okay, she spanked me for ringing that bell. 🤣

There, one good sting story deserves another. Lol!