Turned Toward the Light
I’ve always wanted to visit a sunflower farm. Years ago, I started following the instagram account of a woman from Kansas who shared dazzling photos of acres filled with sunflowers each fall. The flowers seemed impossibly large and were bunched together so tightly that it looked possible to run across their tops. Even through a computer screen, I was mesmerized by their beauty and longed to see them in person.
So when our recent hayride turned the corner into a pumpkin patch bordered by densely planted sunflowers, I was elated. It wasn’t the full Kansas experience I’d wanted, but I was thrilled nonetheless.
The wagon dropped us off in the middle of the pumpkin patch; far from the sunflowers. Knowing it would be worth the walk, I made my way up the hill to stand among the flowers growing taller than I ever did.
As I drew near, it wasn’t their beauty that struck me, but how sad they looked. From a distance they looked strong, with heavy heads lifted high. Standing closer, I could see that the blossoms, filled with developing seeds, bent toward the ground. The burdensome load was too heavy to keep upright, despite the strength of the straight and thick stalks. I had to crouch down low to get a full glimpse of each flower’s beauty.
Still, they were stunning. Each flower was turned in the same direction, open blossom pointing to where the sun shines brightest. No matter where they were in the field, they were all turned toward the morning light. They were growing, as they were designed to, and the more they grew the heavier the weight became. Yet they never stopped pointing toward the sun - the very same sun that simultaneously weighed them down and gave them strength to carry the weight.
Standing there, I was struck by how much the sunflowers remind me of myself and my widowed sisters in Christ. From a distance, we look like we are flourishing. We stand tall and strong, beautiful and striking. It seems as if nothing else in this life could diminish our strength. We’ve been through the worst- we carry a heavy load- and we’re still standing.
But getting up close, where our grief isn’t obscured by distance, tells a deeper story. Some find that we are surprisingly sad. The heavy weight we’ve been asked to carry pulls us down. The personal growth we’ve experienced is good, but adds even more weight. We are tired. Weary. Many days, we are sad.
And yet, like the sunflowers in the field, we are pointed toward the Son. The same Son that allowed our heavy burden gives us strength to carry it. Just as God promised the apostle Paul who begged for relief and wasn’t given it that His, “strength is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness,” so He promises this to us too.
As we point ourselves toward the light of God’s unfailing love, we are strengthened, even though the weight we carry threatens to bend us low. We are doing what we were created to do - soak in the Son’s light…let Him change us… soak in the light again… and let Him change us some more.
The goal isn’t to diminish the weight or sadness. The goal isn’t to look joyful up close and to find some way to keep our heavy load upright. The goal is simply to look to Him and rest in His love. That is enough. That is what we are called to do.
Do you feel weary, friend? I do. Does living life and raising children without your husband feel heavy? It sure does for me. Do you wonder how much longer you can carry this weight of life and grief? You are not alone.
Let’s trust together that a heavy burden doesn’t mean bad growth but rather that our strength is not sufficient to bear it alone. So let's keep looking toward the Son. He who gave us this burden is the same one who will strengthen us to carry it.
Yours in Christ,
