My mind spins through a Rolodex of potential outcomes . . . again. The worry might be unique to today, but the questions are more than familiar: How will I manage? Will I be okay—physically, financially, emotionally? What if the worst-case scenario actually happens?
Anxiety and fear are well-worn paths for many of us. We like to think all our conjuring and devising will still the heart and stay our troubles, but the reality is we’re still left endlessly restless—unable to fix everything and holding our breath for the next problem to come whipping around the corner.
The Call to Consider
Jesus deeply understands these propensities—both as divine creator and human man. He plainly tells his disciples, “Don’t worry about your life” (Luke 12:22, CSB), following it up a few verses later with a profoundly simple illustration:
Consider how the wildflowers grow: They don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these. If that’s how God clothes the grass, which is in the field today and is thrown into the furnace tomorrow, how much more will he do for you—you of little faith? Don’t strive for what you should eat and what you should drink, and don’t be anxious. For the Gentile world eagerly seeks all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be provided for you. Don’t be afraid, little flock, because your Father delights to give you the kingdom.
—Luke 12:27–32, CSB
Jesus’s prescription for our human wrestlings isn’t some elaborate formula or mind game; it’s a gentle call to stop and pay attention to the rhythms he’s already woven into his creation—for there we come to know and trust his own steady character more.
Finding Flowers
I’ve spotted flowers in some pretty surprising places: a hillside wiped clean by forest fire, an alpine peak where few other plants can grow, and a garden plot fifty feet away from the plants that seeded them. I’ve seen tiny petals peek up from cracks in the sidewalk, hanging onto slim scraps of earth and somehow enduring the continual trampling of feet, tires, and paws overhead. I’ve watched perennials in my yard cycle through death and rebirth again and again—brought down to brown stalks of nothingness and then curling open afresh with the first breath of spring sunshine.
Consider all these, our loving Savior says to his anxious people. The flowers we find this spring aren’t toiling for their own survival or agitatedly looking for the next step in life. Instead, they display to us what it means to “[b]e still, and know that [he is] God” (Ps. 46:10). They know where their food comes from, and they rest in their Gardener’s perfect provision for them. They trust he will hold them through the wintering season, protect them from pestilence, and unfold new blooms when the timing is right. And in the meantime, they wait, content in his care.
How Much More
We are more than mere passing wildflowers, seeding the earth for a time and blown easily away by the wind. No, we are eternal souls stamped with God’s own design and dignity. So how much more will he cover and carry us?
If we are in Christ, our roots will forever remain safe and secure, planted in the unchanging hope of the gospel. So, we can face every worry and fear, confidently attesting that “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies” (2 Cor. 4:8-10).
When we worry and stew about our earthly circumstances, Christ reminds us that he “delights to give [us] the kingdom” (Luke 12:32, CSB)—everlasting life now and for all time. His loving provision stretches far beyond what we can even “toil and spin” for ourselves; more than just food and clothing, he wants to robe us in his own eternal joy, peace, and beauty—that we might bloom forth like the flowers, showcasing his glory to a watching world.
Whatever concerns our hearts may battle today, we can look to the flowers and find hope. They will remind us that spring is always ahead, however withered the plan or bleak the outcome. Our seasons of trouble and trial, worry and waiting, are where God’s good growth happens—under the surface of what we can see right now. So, we can carry all our “whys” and “hows” and “what-ifs” to him, trusting in his invisible hand to sustain and nourish us. The keeper of the flowers will hold us safe also.
