There’s been much consideration of lilies. And pondering things in my heart.
We have daylilies from Redfield Farm right outside our doors.
After the tulips and daffodils took their bow and faded in mid-spring, the lilies started popping up. I would count them on our walk out to the car to head to school and point them out to the kids daily—motivation for my mornings to see the beauty He’s already initiated in our day.
One particular afternoon, the kids and I came home from school to see more blooms ready to greet us. We talked about how God puts reminders in our path. A few thousand years ago, Jesus talked to His people about lilies, and we get the privilege of overhearing it through pages of a Book. Matthew recorded His plea: “Consider the lilies.” Jesus wanted them to see the beauty. Then to know the flower didn’t work or worry to gain such lovely clothes. If God loves the lowly lily enough to provide what it needs, how much more will He provide for the people He loves!
The present-day conversation between my kids and I turned to other things as backpacks were unpacked and snacks were begged for and homework was started.
A few Sundays later, I checked in with our youngest as the church service started to make sure He understood the prayer-time instructions. The congregation was given a few prompts to pray over, and I typically give the kids a summary version before they’re asked to sit quietly in prayer. “Thank God for the good things God gives us each day,” I whispered in his ear. Only a pause of silence, and then he started talking—again. Before I had a moment to “shhh” his sounds and redirect to prayer, I heard his little voice ask, “Mom, what is the name of those flowers outside our house, again?”
As he thanked God for the lilies, I fought back a tear, and thanked God for the everyday moments that seem so insignificant, but that He uses to teach my kids and to shape my own faith.
I love how Jesus used words and items that reach right into our human-ness. Weighty truths and spiritual messages packed into mundane, visible items—bread, flowers, birds—that hit us right here, where our feet are held to the earth. The gravity of eternal truths shared through bits of His creation that bow to the weight of His created gravity here.
As the summer went on and unexpected circumstances hit hard and deep, instead of just glancing at the lilies, I started considering. When so much of our “normal” was taken away this summer, the lilies kept blooming. While they’re not the same variety that Jesus pointed to on the hillside centuries ago, their attire of yellows and pinks and reds still communicate quite clearly.
We planted them over the last six years, and they don’t get any particular care. Different from high-maintenance houseplants, the lilies don’t get watered by hand. I’ve never fertilized, and I prune and cut back only when my memory and time allows. God grows them. No worries, cares or work required. He creates the blooms. The rain and sun are under His control. They don’t “toil and spin” as one translation puts it.
A daily reminder—my needs aren’t met by my own toiling and spinning. When I don’t see the full plan, or when I don’t like the plan I do see, I’m tempted to spin faster and toil harder, and my mind follows the spiraling down. It’s the opposite of trust and giving up control. Spinning would kill the lilies, detaching them from their roots and source of life. Instead they wait for their time and then let God open them up wide to soak in the sun.
Our lilies bloom for just one day. They’re not the proud sunflowers or delicate pansies that grow through the season and last for weeks. Bursting open by morning and faded after nightfall. The next day my eyes rest on the same spot. In place of yesterday’s vibrant bloom, wrinkled petals are closed up together, dehydration starting.
In another place, the green, sealed pod from yesterday has transformed with color, flexing open hands and welcoming the day. The same attire doesn’t last forever. It’s good for that day, and the next day, I need to look fresh to God for provision. The beauty isn’t designed to last beyond the day. He gives daily blooms like daily bread and meets the needs for each moment.
My mind naturally looks ahead—what about the blooms and clothes and provision and care for the weeks to come? Unnaturally, God calls me to trust. He gives the bloom for today, and He promises His care for tomorrow. He doesn’t give us tomorrow’s plan yet. But the great I AM is already there. Faith isn’t for what’s seen. It blooms when trusting Him for what’s not yet visible to my eyes.
That’s where “I AM” comes in. I have a limited “was” and the oh-so-brief “is” and a daunting “yet to come.” My God is. He can say “I AM” in every point of time—ever present. I have a past and present and future. He is. He is when He first gave His name to Moses. He is when He confirmed His identity to accusers in the garden. He is when our world was turned upside down. He is when His full redemption takes place. So I can entrust my tomorrows, and next months and next years to His care. He’s already there, coaxing the lilies to don their clothing to serve as a reminder to my finite eyes. He allows these weak eyes to see a flower and see His face. He grows the plants and grows my faith. He illustrates His care to remind me He meets my needs for today.
The dead blooms, the remnants of yesterday’s beauty, stay on the stalk at first. Removing those closed-petaled forms is what’s needed to promote the continuous healthy blooms to come. Lately, I’ve had a hard time letting go of yesterday’s blooms. The ways God chose to care for me, my family and my community—they were nothing short of beautiful! But the day has come to a close.
The daylily plant lives up to its name, and the bloom closes, just a shadow of what it was the day before. The once-vibrant bloom, now misshapen and darkened, carries its own interesting beauty, but it cannot carry yesterday’s splendor into today. It’s not made to nor meant to. New blooms need to come.
As the leaves change and start to fall, the lilies’ steady bloom has slowed to occasional. Their strong visual reminders each day are now mostly green grasses, speckled with brown. A few surprising blooms greet us in the fall. Then, I need to cut back the plants. Their season is coming to an end. As they rest and do the opposite of toil and spin, God will prepare all they need to bloom again when spring sunshine rises, following the entrance of the tulips and daffodils.
As this calendar season ends and blends into the next, I thought this hard life season would have closed. The days and weeks have turned into months. We’re cutting down the lilies, so they can be ready for when God calls them out again, and we still wait. In the waiting, tears and laughter still remain close. Natural questions and doubts are covered by His gift of unnatural faith in Him. The lilies will come again. He doesn’t need to unveil his plans to me. He doesn’t require my consultation, worry or work to make them come to be.
Instead of students converging on campus sidewalks and fields, gaggles of geese have taken their place as fall sweeps in. Hawks and pigeons, blue jays and robins and sparrows are all at home here this season. And in His perfect timing, as the lilies take their rest, He’s provided plenty of birds of the air for new observations: they’re fed without sowing nor reaping. And through far-too-near-sighted eyes, I see His creation compelling me to see Him. His provision. His care. How He values His birds and flowers and—far greater still—His children. How the Creator and Keeper of the lilies can be trusted!
Matthew 6:25-34: Part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (emphasis mine)
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing?
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
“Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”