Consider the Lilies.

I know everyone has heard the saying, “The first step is to admit you have a problem.” Well, I will just go ahead and admit one of my many problems. I am a worrier. My mother would be quick to call me a worry wart, but I do not really care for that term. Even so, I have come to realize I worry about anything and everything. 

I worry about things that are important. I worry about my husband, especially when he is biking around town at 5:00 in the morning. I worry about my sister when she is alone, even though she lives two blocks up the street. I worry about my mom and dad because I do not see them as often as I used to. I worry about my future children and if I am going to be a capable parent. I worry about the little souls I have been entrusted to teach. I worry about my dog, who I often have to leave at home during the day. I worry about America. I worry about the world we live in. I worry about my past mistakes. I worry about today. I worry about what the future holds. I worry about the unknown. I worry. 

I worry about not-so important things. I worry about what I am going to wear each time I have to decide on an outfit. I worry about the sound my dryer makes when I start drying a load of clothes. I worry about what will break next on or in our house. I worry about what others think of me. I worry if the color green will be okay for my classroom walls. I worry about the strange nightmares that I have. I worry about getting sick by touching public door handles and such. I worry about my car getting hit by a buggy in the Walmart parking lot. I worry about the kittens that live in my neighbor's backyard. I worry about my obsession of worrying. I worry.

I would dare to say, one could call me anxious. Sometimes my worry and anxiousness cause a few rough sleeps within a week. Sometimes my worry causes me to have even worse nightmares, to be a bit irritated towards others, or to just sit down and cry. My anxiousness leads me to try to fix things that are not even broken, to say things I would not normally say, and worst of all, to depend on myself.

In worrying and anxiousness, I say I do not trust the God of all time—eternity past, present, and eternal future—to take care of me; I say I trust in my own brainstorming, wild imagination, and silly thoughts to have appropriate preparations and plans for every what-if in my life. Instead of allowing the God who makes sure the sun rises each morning and the stars come out each night to guide me today and tomorrow, I decide that thinking up millions of solutions to hypothetical problems that have a very slim chance of even occurring is somehow better. I choose to trust in myself rather than the One who actually holds the whole world in His hands.

“Consider the lilies” is a phrase from a well-known passage of Scripture. I can honestly say I do not remember the first time I heard or read it. I just remember being young and forever being enamored with that lone phrase within the passage.

The two passages where the phrase is found in Scripture are entitled in most Bible versions as “Do Not Be Anxious.” In Luke's account, Jesus is speaking and says: Consider the lilies, 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, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!

I love flowers. Oh, I love them! I even love flowers that some people may call weeds. I love receiving them as gifts, picking Indian paintbrushes out in the pasture every spring, and now, growing them in front of my own house. My mom is the complete opposite, which probably fueled my delight in flowers all the more because they were such a rare sight growing up. She never planted flowers, never welcomed them as gifts, and definitely was never found picking weeds out in the field.

Mom does not care for flowers because of how quickly they die. And I should share, the flowers my husband took care of in our garden last year flourished and were splendid. The ones I was supposed to take over this season have “been thrown into the oven.” Each bloom of a flower, no matter where at, no matter how long it lasts, is truly awe-inspiring. This Scripture says that even Solomon, known for his great wisdom and wealth, was not as well off as a lily bloom, even if only in the field for a day. Yet, God takes even more care of us. Oh, me of little faith!

As often as I struggle with worry, I thank God that He has never-ending patience with me and tucks such a simple phrase down deep in my soul that He uses to comfort me in the most chaotic times. Coming home to a vase of flowers that my husband surprised me with tells me that God has everything under His sovereign control. Seeing the few (and even fewer) flower blooms in front of my house that have survived my lack of watering and the summer heat is a small reminder of the care Christ has for me. Driving through the country, and my breath being taken away by a pasture full of spectacular weeds is His precious way of saying to me, “I know everything that you need. Seek after Me and I will take care of all your worries. Fear not, Madison, for it is My pleasure to give you the Kingdom.”

When I am consciously seeking after His face, His glory, His Kingdom, none of my worries really matter. Sure, it is and will continue to be an ongoing battle and process to keep my eyes on Christ or to look around at all the things that are not right or the multiple things that could go wrong. What a sweet, sweet joy it is to become aware that I do not have to worry about any of the important or not so important things that life contains. Because of what Christ has done and what God promises, I can look at a flower bloom and realize my freedom to chase after Him wholeheartedly without any fear, reservation, or worry. I strongly desire to always consider the lilies.

“Consider the Lilies”

Consider the lilies: they don’t toil or spin, and there’s not a king with more splendor than them. Consider the sparrow: they don’t plant or sow, but they are fed by the Master, who watches them grow.

May I introduce you to this Friend of mine, who hangs out the stars and tells the sun when to shine? He kisses the flowers each morning with dew, but He’s not too busy to love me and you.

We have a Heavenly Father above with eyes full of mercy and a heart full of love. He really cares when your head is bowed low. Consider the lilies, and then you will know.

"And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest? Consider the lilies, 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, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried. For all the nations of the world seek after these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, seek his kingdom, and these things will be added to you.

Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Luke 12:22-32.

Nicknames.

As a teenager, I grew very inquisitive about who my parents were in high school. I took to searching tirelessly through their old yearbooks each evening to decide if we would have been friends, had I lived in the same generation and went to the same school. 

One could understand my astonishment when every classmate who signed my dad’s yearbook addressed him as ”Killer.” I was slightly alarmed at first, and after asking my mom (who just told me to ask my dad), I found it was only a nickname that a teacher had given him. According to my dad, “The name just stuck.” I am hoping that the English teacher chose that name based on dad's killer writing skills in his English classroom or dad's superior athletic ability in the gym and on the field. We may never know.

Anyone on my mother’s side of the family calls her one of two things. The first is Lynnette, which is her actual middle name. I do not consider that a nickname. I consider that confusing for “Lynnette’s” kids. I was always quick to correct each extended family member by telling him or her that my mom’s name was in fact, “Leigh.” I thought I was doing them a favor. Do they really not know who she is?! Probably after being embarrassed by my outbursts on several occasions, she explained to me that because there was a “LeRoy” and a “Lee” already in her family, “Lynnette” helped keep it straight. 

The majority of her family calls her by something else, though. A nickname that describes something that she may or may not have repeatedly done at inopportune times as a toddler. I would assume most people outgrow names given at the age of two. However, to this day, I will still answer my mom's phone to hear, “Poo, is that you?” Yes, I'll stop right there on that one. 

Webster’s dictionary defines the word nickname as: “a usually descriptive name given instead of or in addition to the one belonging to a person, place, or thing.” A nickname usually describes a person’s personality or something the person may do. It usually tells a little more about who a person is.

Personally, I do not have a nickname, as I’m not sure a shortening of my actual name counts. Other people can relate to that, while others have several nicknames. Some nicknames that often slip my mind are the ones we hear each and every day: Husband, Wife, Dad, Mom, Sister, Brother, Grandma, Grandpa, Grammy, Grampy, etc. These nicknames are obviously titles, but very much describe a person often by telling others who they are, whose they are, and what they do.

The first person that comes to mind in having countless nicknames and titles is God. And unlike my dad’s nickname, God’s nicknames all have specific meanings. Everyone knows why He is called by each name. They tell of His character—who He is and what He does. 

God’s nicknames are also very different from my mother’s. A person does not know my mother better by hearing her called, “Poo.” Every title of God’s tells more about Him. A person learns something different about Him with every name they hear. His nicknames, or titles, come directly from Scripture and there is an endless amount. I would like to just share a few:

Abba, Father.

“For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” Romans 8:14-15.

Through trusting in Christ as Savior of our lives, God adopts us into His family. We become children of God. He becomes our Abba, Father—a devoted, loyal, and trustworthy Father--who we share an intimate relationship with.

Sustainer.

“Cast your burden on the LORD, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved.” Psalm 55:22.

To sustain is “to provide what is needed for someone to continue to exist, to hold up the weight of, to deal with or experience something bad, to give support or relief.” God is our ultimate Sustainer. He is with us in the everyday, the best days, and the worst days. He provides for us, He holds us up, and He gives us relief.

Shepherd.

“The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Psalm 23:1.

Shepherds guide their sheep. They care for them by giving them what they need and keeping them from danger. God is our Great Shepherd. He guides us, cares for us, protects us, and keeps us.

“He’s the Great Shepherd, the Rock of all Ages, Almighty God is He!”

Father of the fatherless.

“Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5.

Several places of Scripture refer to God caring for the wanderer, the poor, the widow, and the orphan. Sojourner or not, in poverty or not, losing a spouse or not, fatherless or not, these references also represent where every one of us stand, apart from His saving grace.

Promise Keeper.

“Not one word of all the good promises that the LORD had made to the house of Israel had failed; all came to pass.” Joshua 21:45.

My dad attended many “Promise Keeper” conferences when I was growing up. (which is why I do not drink milk anymore, but that is a whole different story). I was and still very much am enthralled by that title. God keeps His promises—every single promise that He makes. He will never fail. 

Rock.

“He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken.” Psalm 62:2.

“Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee.”

Think about a mountain. Mountains do not tend to move. They do not tend to shake. They are sturdy. It is an illustration of safety--the place to go when all is falling down around us. God is our rock, our safety, our refuge, our help.

Redeemer.

“For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name; and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called.” Isaiah 54:5.

My mother’s favorite hymn is “Redeemed.” This passage from Isaiah has many names of God, but “Redeemer” tells of one thing He does. He redeems. He redeems us from sin. He redeems us by the blood of the Lamb. He redeems us to Himself.

“I think of my blessed Redeemer, I think of Him all the day long: I sing, for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song.”

Creator.

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.” Isaiah 40:28.

God is Creator. He created everything. Just look around for a moment and let that sink in. God is the one who formed you in your mother’s womb, put the stars in the sky and called them each by name, built mountains, filled oceans, striped zebras….the list could go on forever.

“Almighty Father, Master and Lord,

King of all kings and Redeemer,

Wonderful Counselor, Comforter, Friend,

Savior and Source of our life without end.

You are worthy, Father, Creator.

You are worthy, Savior, Sustainer. 

You are worthy, worthy and wonderful;

Worthy of worship and praise.”

Those are just a handful of God’s “nicknames” that do exactly what nicknames should do: describe. 
Please, feel free to share others, as there are countless more.

The Bride.

At age four, on any given Saturday morning, chances are you would have found me at my Grandma Wilma’s house, sitting in front of the television having a quick snack before 10:30am so that my lunch would not be ruined. That was the rule, the one and only rule about snacks at Grandma’s house. Once finished with my regular ice cream sandwich or my Dixie cup of shredded cheese, Grandma would clean my mess up and start cooking, encouraging me to go play until she called me to supper. I would take off from the living room, run down the hall, and turn left to enter the guest bedroom. Sliding across the floor, I would reach the dresser drawers. The next to the bottom drawer held exactly what I was looking for: Grandma’s old, white slips. They were not slips to me, though. No, they were so much more. They were wedding gowns. I shed my clothes, hurried into the slip, and forced Mack to become the groom or flower girl, whatever I was feeling and whatever she could handle that day. I mean, she was only two years old. I wanted to be a bride, I wanted to plan a wedding, and I wanted to get married every single Saturday morning before I was called to supper. I simply loved being the bride.

On cold days, the wedding celebration took place inside. The hallway became my aisle and the den became the stage area. If lunch were simple to prepare that day, Grandma came to enjoy the show. On beautiful, summer days, Mack and I would venture outside to get married underneath the large, knotted shade tree in the backyard or on the hill in the front lawn overlooking the wheat and alfalfa fields. If Dad were around the farm at the time, he would come walk me down the aisle or fill in the spot I was most worried about that day. It never got old. I would do something different each time just to decide what I would like better when the actual day would finally arrive, when I would be the bride.

From around age four to age seven, if you asked me whom I was going to marry, I would answer with three answers: my daddy, Aladdin, or the man at the grocery store who snuck candy out to me while mom loaded the groceries into the car. I always gave the same three as my answer. I knew I needed to keep my options open, especially when my mother would giggle and tell me all three were impossible. I just thought she did not understand the love I held for each of the three people. Surely one of the three would work out, right?

In sixth grade, I had a brilliant idea to play “wedding” at recess. Yes, I basically forced all thirty-two sixth-graders and the few fifth-graders that played with us to have a fake wedding celebration. We prepared and planned all week. Then, come Friday, everything was ready and the entire playground came to watch. Who was the bride? Me. They let me be the bride since it was my idea. I am pretty sure we planned on having a wedding every Friday for the rest of the school year, though, because everyone wanted to be the bride. I was okay with this, of course, because I loved weddings. I loved them. However, our principal did not like our weddings after our first one. So, we had to quit having our wedding festivities. What a shame.

A few years later, in junior high, on a random Wednesday night, our youth pastor shuffled all the youth down to the sanctuary for our object lesson. We needed object lessons desperately. Bless his heart; none of us could pay attention at that age, even when we tried. So, Trevor and his beautiful wife, Aimee, took us down the hall to the sanctuary for our Wednesday night lesson. Unfortunately, I do not remember the lesson. (Sorry, Trevor!) I do remember the object part of the lesson, though. We all sat down in the front pews and Trevor asked for a volunteer. Everyone sat shyly. Then Trevor elaborated on his request.

“Who is the craziest about weddings?”

No one said anything, but I started to get really nervous and hot.

“Girls, come on, one of you has to always be talking about your future wedding.”

I kept my eyes right on my feet. I could feel people looking at me. I knew I was beginning to sweat. 

Yup. Exactly what I knew would happen. I glanced up to find about twenty fingers pointing directly at me.

“Alright, alright, I’ll volunteer.”

In eighth grade, it was not cool to like weddings. Boys were still considered “gross” and you did not ever think nor talk about getting married. I was weird; I knew it. I had almost everything planned. It was picture perfect. The only thing I was missing was the groom.

On May 1, 2011, I met a guy who was probably just as crazy about being married as I was. I did not know that then, because if there is a less perfect time to talk about marriage and weddings than in junior high, it is during college. Most boys run from the smallest mention of commitment. You do not mention marriage, especially once you have and it does not work out for you. However, after a few months of time with this man, I realized he was just that: a man. He proposed on October 17, 2012, and I was living my childhood dream: planning a wedding.

Wedding planning is probably difficult no matter when you have to do it, but I can assure you it is even more difficult than normal when you are going to school full-time. It was a constant battle of deciding between schoolwork or wedding preparations. Both took great hits. Thank the Lord for my mother for taking my little bits of visions that I did give her and stringing them together to make them a reality. 

After seven and a half months, the day had arrived. I woke up on May 31, 2013, spent time with Jesus, and began to prep, for I was finally the bride. All the while, my phone is constantly reminding me of two things: it is my wedding day and Oklahoma is in a tornado warning. My hair was put up, my make-up put on perfectly, and I finally was put in the dress I had envisioned wearing since I was four years old. The day was looking ever so lovely. 

Whispers filled the air for most of the afternoon. I knew what was going on, even though no one wanted me to. Thanks to social media, I was again fully aware of our weather situation and that this was my one and only day to be a bride, not the loveliest of combinations. Yet, it was happening. There was no stopping and starting over. 

Right about the time we were supposed to be walking down the aisle, I was being walked down the stairs to take shelter from the rapidly approaching tornado. Every bride pictures that moment of the double doors being opened as she begins her walk down the aisle and the crowd's breath being taken away by her beauty. My crowd slowly walked by a bathroom, where I was sitting in the middle of the floor in my gorgeous, white gown, and gasped with complete disbelief and terror because of what was happening......Close, but not quite.

After having the scare of our lives, we were able to run back upstairs once the storm passed to have a speedy ceremony. The ceremony I had practiced since I was young and perfected for the last seven and a half months was squished into fifteen minutes. I ran down and back up the aisle quicker than I had ever imagined, even in the wedding nightmares I had prior to the evening. I had to change back into the clothes I had gotten ready in earlier that day so my dress would not be damaged any more than it already was, and was thrown out into a torrential downpour and flood without any supper. That was it. That was my wedding, everything I had looked forward to and longed for.

The next few days, weeks, and months led to one question, a question that always comes up when life happens a way that we did not plan: Why?

I should have shared at the beginning why marriage was always so beautiful and intriguing to me, but it just happens to be the reason, the answer to the question. You see, history opens with a wedding in Genesis and it will end with one, too. Marriage points to something else, something greater, and someone even more beautiful. It points to Christ.

“Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church—for we are members of his body. ‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife and the two will become one flesh.’ This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.” (Ephesians 5:22-33)

Jesus gave Himself up for the church, for His body. He came to earth, died for our sins, and was raised from the dead, claiming victory over sin and death. Those who give their lives to Him and trust in Him for their salvation are apart of that body. We are His church, His bride. How amazing is this passage when you look at it in that light! Christ gave Himself up for me; He cleanses me and presents me as radiant, without stain, wrinkle, and blemish. He presents me holy. I am apart of the spotless Bride. In return, my life is supposed to be a continuous, joyous submission to Him, seeking His glory.

This is why weddings and marriage have always captivated my attention. God put that desire and interest in my heart so that I would constantly be pointed to Him, to the incredible relationship that earthly marriage echoes: Christ and the church. This is why our wedding was not and our marriage is not perfect, it is only a picture of something more. It is only a glimpse of perfection.

Grandma’s cooking is remarkable and my Aunt Dana and Mum worked hard to put together food for the wedding reception, but I can assure you it will not be as good as the party after the wedding that is to come. My four year-old fantasies and the actual tragedy of my earthly wedding will not even compare to the Marriage of the Lamb. They are only pictures of what is to come. So, I will continue to look forward to, long for, and ready myself as part of the Bride until I am called to supper, the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

“Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out:

'Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns.

Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure.'” (Revelation 19:6-8)

“They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.” (Revelation 22:4)

“He’s coming back for His bride! Hallelujah!”