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The world is being born again.  

I’ve watched the seasons slip from winter to spring every year of my life, yet each time I witness the transformation, it seems more miraculous.  For many weary months, the world has slumbered encrusted in winter’s ice.  Churlish winds have muttered gloomily in the barren treetops.  Animals and humans alike have shrunk from the bone-numbing fingers of frost.  The clouds have been low and leaden, the colors have been faded to sepia shades, and even the daylight has been stingy.  But now, the unbreakable fist of frost is easing its grip, and the light and life and color are swirling back into the world.  

And slowly, gently, like the first hesitant notes of a symphony, the signs of spring are arriving.  One day, there’s a forked tongue of crocus stretching from the icy earth.  And then, there’s a surprising patch of blue sky shyly peeking between those surly clouds.  Next, there’s a robin, prompt and pompous, hopping across my backyard on a studious search for worms.  The miracle is unfolding.  

And the world is laughing, the flowers bursting into song around every corner.  Spring boasts so many showy blooms—a riot of color and beauty.  Fire-throated lilies open their mouths in praise.  Daffodils lift their golden trumpets to the warm spring wind.  Tulips sway in their scarlet skirts and jonquils scatter like stars and the tall purple lanterns of hyacinths glow in the shadows.  

This floral pageant takes center stage, dazzling onlookers with vivid hues and fragrant scents and elegant shapes.  Yet my favorite spring flower isn’t the lovely lily or bold daffodil or swirling tulip, the starry jonquil or the radiant hyacinth.  It’s one that’s much smaller, much shyer, and much easier to overlook entirely.    

You see, one day in late February, when the wind is still a bit chilly and the skies are still rather gray, I step outside my door, and I notice a little white flower blooming in my backyard.  It’s tiny—smaller than my thumbnail, huddled on the frozen ground—yet it’s strikingly beautiful, with five snowy petals enfolding a center streaked with the pink-purple hues of a blushing sunrise.  And as the flower smiles at me, I smile back—and I know spring is at hand.

That first flower is just the beginning.  With every passing day, there are more and more and more of these blooms—all delicate, all beautiful, all gazing with adoration at the spring sunshine.  I know that by the first of April, there will be such a great multitude that my yard will appear completely white with the “springtime snow” of this carpet of stars.  

It’s funny—I adore these flowers, I venerate them as the heralds of spring, I seek for their presence every year—yet I don’t even know what they are.  I have always referred to them simply as “the little white flowers.”  I am totally ignorant regarding their germination process or their origins or their scientific name and classification.  My only feeble assumption is that they are grass flowers, but even that is uncertain. 

The little white flowers aren’t conspicuous and eye-catching.  They’re humble.  They’re simple.  They’re easy to unwittingly bypass or accidentally stomp underfoot.  Compared to the more eye-catching flowers, they might seem bland or plain.  Yet I believe that they are one of the loveliest members of God’s garden.  

My friends, this is true in the human world as well.  Our culture has no shortage of divas and darlings, idols and icons, stars and somebodies.  Influential leaders, talented ballplayers, beloved singers, and glamorous actors command our adoration.  These names are scattered across silver screens and splashed over tabloid pages.  Yet although it’s the glittery and glamorous that snags our attention, it’s often the unsung, behind-the-scenes people—the “little white flowers” of the world—who are the true stars of the show. 

This flies in the face of everything our culture embodies.  We’re taught that success is found in the spotlight and that popularity equals progress.  We’re trained to revere the high-profile positions and to sneer with distaste at the ordinary.  But while the wealthy and worldly may dazzle the audience, it’s often the folks in the shadows who deserve the accolades—because although their actions are unsung, they’re incredibly important.

We see this principle frequently in the Bible.  Moses challenged Pharaoh and delivered an entire nation from bondage—but Aaron served as his spokesman and helped him lead the people.  David was Israel’s greatest king, founding an empire and slaying a giant and birthing a legacy—but it was the prophet Nathan who kept him on the right path and restored him when he strayed.  Mary was visited by angels and entrusted with the care of God’s own Son—but Joseph was at her side to shield her from the rumors and provide for the family and give her the gift of trust.  You see, for every Moses, there’s an Aaron.  For every David, there’s a Nathan.  For every Mary, there’s a Joseph.  And for every Jeremiah, there’s a Baruch.

That last pairing isn’t too familiar to many people.  But just because the story is obscure doesn’t mean it’s not amazing.  Jeremiah was the last prophet to Israel before the nation was conquered by Babylon and dragged away into captivity.  Living during a time of crisis, both from external political pressure and internal spiritual decay, Jeremiah preached virulent messages of repentance and coming doom.  As a result, he was often unpopular with the people and despised by the rulers, and he faced agonizing persecution and rejection.  God must have known that the burden on Jeremiah’s shoulders was just too much for one man.  And in His mercy, He provided Jeremiah with a helper—his faithful scribe, Baruch.   

Baruch isn’t a well-known figure.  He’s not frequently mentioned in Bible studies.  He doesn’t have his own book in Scripture.  He’s virtually unknown today, and he was no less invisible in his lifetime.  So was this man unimportant because he didn’t have a flashy role?  Far from it!  Baruch may have been overlooked by the world, but he was certainly not ignored by God.  Indeed, the Lord gave Jeremiah these special words for Baruch:  “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, to you, O Baruch:  You said, ‘Woe is me! For the Lord has added sorrow to my pain. I am weary with my groaning, and I find no rest.’ Thus shall you say to him, Thus says the Lord….And do you seek great things for yourself? Seek them not” (Jeremiah 45:1-5 ESV). 

At first, this message left me scratching my head.  Why would God tell Baruch not to seek great things?  Then the answer came like a flash of lightning:  because he was already doing them. 

Baruch wasn’t famous, but he was faithful.  He wasn’t conspicuous, but he was conscientious.  He didn’t command the attention of man, but he enjoyed the gaze of Heaven.  How could Baruch have done anything greater than this?  There was no finer role he could have filled than faithfully helping to spread God’s Word and cheerfully obeying, even in small and seemingly unnoticed ways.  

I think again of those little white flowers.  They seem so humble—smaller and duller than the brightness of the other blossoms.  And we’ve all felt that way at times—as if we are insignificant, as if our lives pale in comparison to the glittering glory of those around us.  We echo the words of Baruch, mourning the weariness of seemingly unnoticed obedience.  But my friends, if you have ever felt like those little white flowers, then mark my words:  if you are serving faithfully, if you are exalting God, if you are making your life a blessing to the people around you, then you have no need to seek “great things.”  You’re already doing them!  Whether you stand on a stage or a factory floor, whether you address large crowds or envelopes for your boss, whether you’ve written a book or just a loving note to your spouse—you’re doing great things.  The size of your audience in no way determines the value of your contribution. 

And make no mistake:  your contribution is valuable.  Just think of the little white flowers again.  An inexperienced observer might assume they had no role to play.  After all, how could blooms so tiny fulfill any important functions?  But in actuality, these flowers make incredibly vital contributions to the world around them.  For one thing, they prepare the soil for other vegetation.  The barren winter ground needs the stirring and enriching of these forerunner flowers before it can support the lush grasses and vibrant blooms of summer.  Furthermore, these flowers are a lifeline for one of spring’s most quintessential and foundational species—honeybees.  As the days grow warmer and sunnier, I sometimes go outside and kneel in the flowers, face against the fragrant earth, and I see the zigzagging dance of the honeybees as they peek into each tiny flower, wings whirring diligently, sprinkled with pollen like fairy dust. 

You may feel like those white flowers—small.  Unknown.  Insignificant.  Perhaps no one knows your name or gives you praise or sees your work.  But I promise you that you are chosen, beloved, and oh, so valuable.  Your role is bigger than you know, and your obedience means more than you realize.

In a culture that constantly tells us we aren’t enough, that we must do and be and perform at a pace no human could maintain, peace comes as we settle into the roles God has given us—no matter how “unimportant” or “insignificant” they seem.  How do we do this?  First, we prioritize God and His Word, following Him and His commands to us regardless of the opinions of the world or the dictates of the culture.  Secondly, we honor others before ourselves, squashing our self-seeking tendencies and instead focusing on ways to encourage and uplift those around us.  Lastly, we remember that we are in the service of God, and as His trusted followers, we work cheerfully and diligently at whatever assignment He has placed before us.   

There are hundreds of those little white flowers—tiny stars sprinkling the world with laughter.  I still don’t know their name.  Perhaps I never will.  But I know this:  they may be small, they may be humble, but their role is far from unimportant.  And just as there are hundreds of those flowers, there are hundreds of people throughout the world faithfully serving God in mundane roles.  These people may never stand in the spotlight or receive an award or feature in a newspaper headline, but the God of all the earth promises that they are doing great things.  In God’s world, there are no unimportant roles or bit parts or seconds.  If you are a servant behind the scenes today, then rejoice—because you are doing some of the greatest things of all for His Kingdom. 

Did you enjoy this post? What are some seemingly small ways we can shine forth God’s glory? Let me know in the comments!

Also, DON’T MISS THIS: April 1 marks the two-year anniversary of Words from the Wilderness, and we’re going to celebrate! Be sure to subscribe to my email list to stay updated on the special surprises in store!