Dancing Beneath the Sunshine

Beneath the tree, the bees gather.
Not one — many.
Each one small. Each one mighty.
This is the realm of Deborah.

She was a wife, a judge, a prophetess, a leader — busy as a bee, yet rooted beneath the tree of victory, never moving from the place of revelation.

After the battle, she did not build a monument.
She sang.
A song of triumph, rising like the sun — celebrating not her own strength,
but the One who gave it.

The sun overhead is not decoration.
It is declaration.

May those who love You
shine like the sun, bright in its strength as it crosses the sky.
She ruled from a place of joy, not striving.

From victory, not survival.
And from beneath that tree, she spoke — and nations listened.
Not just one Deborah.
Another will rise.
And another.

Small. Mighty. Diligent. Fruitful.
Dancing in purpose,
beneath the sunshine,
for forty years of peace.