Consider the Wildflowers

Glimmers of Hope and Rewriting Stories

There are some stories that we tell ourselves that parade as unchangeable; as truth.

They lodge themselves deep within us — more as a part of us — than a thing that happened to us.¹ But, they do not have to be the whole of us though they pretend to.

In particular, I continue to work to disentangle this belief that I will be abandoned and rejected by others, and even by God — if I do not show up in the way that I think is required of me.

Before I really became aware of how much of an impact this all had on me — I spent some time in North Carolina with friends. It was a few years ago, and marked the beginning of a major upheaval in both my heart and in my life. When I got there, I was already dangling on a ledge of discouragement. I felt ignored and mostly, overlooked — in my profession, in relationships, and everywhere else, too.

I couldn't decide if God was for me, or if he had only brought me this far to leave me.

But, I did think that if I worked harder or if I showed up in a more palpable way — perhaps, then, things would change. I could be good enough, if I just kept going.

Yet, no amount of our striving can fill the places where we most want to be seen.

I was weary.

Life was just one transaction after another. And, I had nothing left to give.

I wanted to bury myself, my dreams, and just disappear.

One afternoon, I decided to get out and take a long, meandering walk through the fields that surrounded the home we were staying in. I stumbled onto a pasture that had been freshly cut. Yet, in the distance — I saw a bee tending to a singular patch of wildflowers. Somehow, they still stood. And, they were being taken care of.

At the time, I thought I was being given a demonstration of who I was. And, to this day, I still believe that. But, because of the parts of me that hadn’t yet met Jesus and hadn’t yet been resuscitated by an understanding of his mercy and grace — I couldn’t see myself in that patch of wildflowers. I saw myself as the bee.

I only knew how to give. I didn't know how to receive.

After that, a lot happened.

I almost quit writing. I met Beth Moore.² I went to therapy.³ I started running. I lost a lot of weight.⁴ I decided to open my own therapy practice.⁵ I finished my proposal.⁶

My world was changing and, so was my perspective.
My world changed because of my perspective.

Our stories can be rewritten. Where we once were blind, we can see again.

It had to have been at least a year later, when on a long run at the very last mile I passed a ditch on the side of the road. Though it was littered with weeds and trash, dozens of sunflowers flourished. Then, again — in Texas, the sides of the highways served as safe harbors for wildflowers. Over and over, I’d find them. I’d begin to notice them in the strangest of places. They didn't just grow in ditches, but through cracks as well. I was overwhelmed by their presence. I couldn't get away from them

On a recent trip to Zion National Park, a dear friend and I decided to go canyoneering.⁷ We squeezed ourselves through slots that had been carved into and through the sandstone and moved higher and higher up until there was no path, except the one that the guide and us had made.

I asked him about the wildflowers there, and though he’d come to this canyon time and time again he couldn't say that he remembered any. I found that surprising.

None? I wondered. Certainly there had to be at least one.

Finally, we stopped at a ledge that felt as if it towered above the ground.

We were waiting to rappel down when out of nowhere, a bright, yellow butterfly came flitting into view to tend to a lone wildflower that sat, like us, surrounded by rock.

They’re everywhere — these wildflowers. In places where we least expect them.

Though it doesn't matter where they are. Someone still shows up for them.

It was in that moment that I realized that I was not the bee nor the butterfly — but the wildflower. In fields, ditches, cracks, on the sides of highways, and in the most derelict places — I have grown and continue to grow, because Christ tends to me.

We are not forsaken. Or, forgotten.
We are seen. We are cared for. We are counted.

Jesus himself said to “Consider the wildflowers.” We’ve read it over and over again.⁸

But, what does that even mean?

Eugene Peterson translates parts of Jesus’ sermon as such:

“If God gives such attention to the wildflowers, most of them never even seen,
don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you?”

I’ve come to realize that like the wildflowers
— we are markers of his everlasting kindness.

Our lives are but glimmers of his delight for us.

We are invited not to labor for love, but to simply receive his.

We are welcome to open our hands and accept what belongs to us.
Not just joy or delight, or even — being provided for. But, Christ with us.

He won’t leave us. He is loyal in his love.

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I don’t know where you find yourself, but for me — it’s been an unfamiliar season.

I have, honestly, had to work through many misgivings and doubt in writing my first book. It can be, as you might imagine — difficult to focus when the kids are home and the house is full of needs and noise. I have felt overwhelmed with the responsibility to share myself in a more public way, to show up as myself without holding back.

It’s in this space — where I’m not sure I’m safe and where I am afraid that I might fail— that I begin to feel that part of me that fears rejection reawaken and stand on edge.

I am tempted to once again ask, is God for me? Will he leave me?

Instead, I’m going to ask if you might pray for me? I need focus and discipline. I need clarity and stamina. I need to be reminded that I am held, even as I take this leap of faith every time I sit alone at my desk that sits in the corner of our bedroom.

In the meantime — the wildflowers — they’re getting me through.⁹

1. Sometimes, those two are indistinguishable from one another aren’t they? But, they’re very different. When we can disentangle them — this is when we stumble upon our whole self.

2. If you happened to be around then, I wrote about this. Should I tell that story again? It wasn't so much that I met Beth Moore — it was that I had prayed a specific prayer and God answered it immediately. I was Gideon. Beth Moore was the fleece. And, God remained God. I would have quit writing if he hadn’t showed up in this way. He decided not to let me.

3. Truth is, while I did a lot of therapy while I got my degree — this was the first time I had seen someone on my own and for myself — not a participation grade. It was life-changing.

4. This was a big deal not only because I lost weight, but because it showed just how unstuck I had become. Instead of self-sabotage, I had begun to let things be possible — even in this.

5. I had no idea that I’d come back to it. I thought I was done forever when I quit almost seven years ago. But, here I am and every single day I am stunned that I get to do this for a living.

6. Finishing my Book Proposal was single-handedly one of the hardest things I ever had to do. Now, I’m trying to write that book and I haven’t decided if this is easier or worst. Send help.

7. If you haven’t gone, I’d highly recommend it. I only thought I would die maybe twice. Lol. Canyoneering is basically a mix of rappelling, climbing, hiking, scrambling and squeezing.

8. “Consider how the wildflowers grow. They do not labor or spin.” Luke 12:27-2

9. I have started to take photos of them wherever I go, and have created a folder in my phone. It’s become a spiritual practice of capturing them — and, one that reminds me I’m not alone.