Where the Lilies Grow

Darkness abounds in our world today. It doesn’t take a discerning eye to see the wickedness, sorrow, and hopelessness all around. Geopolitical tensions flash endlessly across our screens. Conflicts unfold in real time. Communities grieve tragedies that feel too close for comfort. People we love carry diagnoses, financial strain, mental illness, and heartaches of all kinds. The sheer volume of suffering can feel paralyzing. We want to do something. We want to fix it. And when we cannot, fear and despondency creep in quietly, convincing us that our smallness disqualifies us from making any difference at all.

In times like these, an oft-repeated scripture can be easily misunderstood: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin…Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself” (Matthew 6:28, 34). At first glance, these verses seem like a call to disengage; to ignore the hard things that are so prevalent in this messy mortality we live. It almost feels as if Christ is asking us to float above reality with spiritual platitudes while the world burns. But that interpretation cannot be further from the truth. Christ is not asking us to live carelessly or indifferently. He is not minimizing the very real suffering we observe daily. Instead, He is correcting our misunderstanding of responsibility.

Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. We are not.

When we subconsciously take on the role of a savior, the weight becomes unbearable. It was never supposed to be bearable, because it was never our role to play. It can feel easy to let our minds “toil…and spin” with worry and anxiety. But Christ commands us over and over again to “be still” (Psalm 46:10). His invitation is not to withdraw, but to reorient—to release what was never ours to carry and take hold of what is. That is why He continues to remind us that all we can do is to “seek first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness” (Matthew 6:33).

I was reminded of this recently in a conversation with a loved one. Her life, like many, feels heavy right now. Her father has cancer. Finances are tight. The future feels uncertain in ways that don’t resolve neatly with a little bit of optimism. As we talked, I expected her to name exhaustion, fear, or frustration at how little control she has over circumstances that matter so deeply. Instead, she surprised me with a completely different perspective: “All I can do,” she told me, “is do good.”

She didn’t mean “good” in a grand, global sense. She wasn’t talking about fixing systems or solving crises. She spoke about showing up to PTA meetings. About throwing class parties. About being present in her family. About offering small gestures of kindness, patience, or encouragement to those around her. About choosing generosity and faithfulness within the circles she actually inhabits.

From the outside, those acts look small. Insignificant, even, when compared with the scale of suffering in the world. But in the economy of God, they are neither trivial nor wasted. This is what it means to be a kingdom builder. This is what it means to lift where we stand. Doctrine and Covenants 64:33 encourages, “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”

Christ does not ask us to hold the whole world together, nor to heal it. He already does that. He “knoweth that [we] have need of all these things” (Matthew 6:32). What He asks instead is that we be faithful in our stewardships—to influence our spheres for good. To be the light in each of our own orbits.

Scripture teaches that Jesus Christ came to save humanity because no one else could. That is His role, His divine work, His cross to carry. And yet, He also calls His followers to participate in that work in a secondary way. To be “saviors on Mount Zion.” Not redeemers, but helpers. Not the source of healing, but conduits of it.

There is a poem by John Roedel that has been on my mind lately, one that reframes what faithfulness looks like in a broken world. He writes, “Whenever I feel helpless in this overwhelming world, I become a helper. Oh, my love. On the days when it feels like I have no power, I serve others. You see, whenever I wash the world’s feet, my hands immediately stop shaking.”

That last line poignantly reminds us of an eternal truth: in serving others, we discover that the fear and paralysis that once gripped us begin to dissolve. The Lord does not need us to be extraordinary. He just needs us to be available. The lilies of the field grow because Christ tends them. The future unfolds under His watchful care. And in the meantime, He invites us into His sacred work of doing good and being good. Not everywhere, not perfectly, but faithfully where we stand. In doing so, we find peace and rest to our souls.

When the world feels overwhelming, and darkness threatens to destroy, remember this: you were never meant to be the Savior. But you were always destined to be a light. In the small choices you make, in the kindness you offer, in the love you share, the Lord’s work quietly unfolds. And in His hands, that is more than enough.

Avery Palenske is grateful for trials. The past 6 months have been difficult on so many levels, but she knows that it is only through the refining fire that she becomes as Christ would have her be. She strives every day to look for God’s hand in her life, and appreciate the little joys that surround her. More than anything, she is grateful for the opportunity she has each week to reconnect with her Heavenly Father and His Son by worshipping in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.