Living life like a wildflower

How do you walk in uncertainty?

by

Rachel C. Varghese

As the demands of life increase, the busyness of schedules never finds relief. With the external stimulation of little children with their chatter, toys, and Daniel Tiger songs on repeat, hibernation seems appealing.

Some quiet. Some stillness. Some…let me just nap here and not have anything else to do. Add a layer of depression and anxiety, and staying cooped up is a dream.

But as winter days get longer, the first breeze that hints spring is near really moves this introverted Midwestern girl outside.

Near the forest preserve by our house, I see new life starting to form from the dead grass and empty branches. I look forward to my children finding their shadows from the sun. And I wait to see the wildflowers that will start budding in our neighborhood.

Wildflowers, according to TRVST, “readily adapt to the various conditions they grow in. Wildflowers can be unpredictable and enjoy their freedom, earning much admiration along the way. They don't fail to communicate their resilient spirit as they grow in their varying shapes, sizes, and colors.”

Readily adapt? Enjoy their freedom? Growing in varying shapes?

Where is the safety? The surety? The security? I’m not even sure I’ve seen growth in this season.

I don’t think ANYONE would ever call me a wildflower. I thrive on certainty, planning and avoiding risk, and anticipate all the worst-case scenarios before moving forward. So what kind of flower is that…?

“Let’s just try and see what happens.”

“Do you KNOW me??” I ask my husband.

My husband, my forever opposite. The one who loves to keep things loose and flexible and pencil in all his plans.

From flexing with toddler sleep schedules to how we approach the weekend, we’re often like waves crashing into one another with our different perspectives.

To live life that freely would require a release of the ways I control, prepare, and plan.

As one who struggles with depression (is it still postpartum if my youngest is 3?), it makes my need for control stronger. As if by managing some of the things that appear within my control, it won’t make this pit any darker as I try to climb out.

If I’m honest, letting go and stepping into the uncertainty feels daunting.

Yet recently, the Lord brought this charge from Hosea to mind:

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
    but he will heal us;
he has injured us
    but he will bind up our wounds.
After two days he will revive us;
    on the third day he will restore us,
    that we may live in his presence.
Let us acknowledge the Lord;
    let us press on to acknowledge him.
As surely as the sun rises,
    he will appear;
he will come to us like the winter rains,
    like the spring rains that water the earth.” (Hosea 6:1-3 NIV).

Perhaps stepping into the uncertainty is a step toward acknowledging who God is in my life.

It seems through the darkest nights, while I cannot rely on my own sense of control or plans, I can count on this:

He will heal.

He will bind up.

He will restore.

He will appear.

He will come to us…like the spring rains that water the earth.

Author and Theologian Dante Stewart recently posted, “In this season, I am leaning into being released from the desire of certainty. God is not a God who needs us to be certain. God is a God who desires our trust.”

As I grasp these realities, I can see more clearly.

By relinquishing control, Jesus shows me that there was growth and formation in the darkness, and there’s even more ahead. Holding onto His with-ness more than my fears, He sets me free.

Out of the pit, I sense this childlike freedom to make mistakes, to play, to create, to rest, to dance. Out of the pit, I see Him with me, delighting over me, saying you’ve come through so much, let go and be free.

Free to exist in a beautiful field of tall grass and wildflowers. Free to frolic, laugh, and play.

The former pit that existed is a space where roots delved deeply as Jesus sat with me, wrestled with me, and carried me when I thought I was alone.

And now from that, as I release the need for certainty, I embrace the freedom in this field, to live in a way that breathes “let’s just try and see what happens.”

Even in the darkest nights, I hold to the message of Hosea, that He will come. As surely as the spring rains water the earth, the Great Gardener provides what I need. Like a wildflower scattered amidst a field, I can walk confidently in the uncertainty because of who is forming me.

Rachel C. Varghese is an Indian-American writer, teacher, speaker, creative, and homeschooling mom who writes on finding belonging, healing, and redemption.