Consider the Daylilies in the Ditch
June 24, 2026
This week Rich and I were driving down one of the two-lane blacktop roads near our house when I noticed the daylilies.
They were growing wild in the ditch among the chicory, Queen Anne’s lace, and every other sort of roadside weed that appears this time of year.
Bright orange blooms against the green of summer.
What struck me wasn’t that they were beautiful — rather, it was that those daylilies have probably been beautiful for several weeks, and I was only now noticing them.
We’ve driven this road countless times — in sunshine and rain — while running errands and making the ordinary trips that make up ordinary life.
And somewhere along the way, the flowers had become part of the background.
Not because they weren’t lovely.
But because they were familiar.
Vacation Eyes
It occurred to me that if I had encountered this exact same stretch of road while on vacation, we probably would have reacted very differently.
I might have said, “Hey, pull over! This is beautiful!” I certainly would have pointed the flowers out to Rich, and we might have stopped to take pictures.
The daylilies themselves wouldn’t have changed.
The road wouldn’t have changed, neither would the weather.
The only thing different would have been me — or more specifically, my attention.
When we’re on vacation, we expect to discover. We look for all that’s new. We slow down, become curious, notice details. We pay attention to the curve and flow of landscapes, architecture, flowers, meals, and sunsets we would likely ignore if they are part of our everyday routine.
You know what we did? We stopped in the middle of the road, then I got out and took pictures!
Some People Live All Year for Two Weeks
I know people who spend fifty weeks of the year waiting for two . Two weeks of vacation. Two weeks at the lake, at the beach, or in the mountains.
Please don’t misunderstand me—I’m not morally opposed to vacations and travel. There’s something wonderful about stepping away from routine and seeing new places.
But I’ve begun to wonder if the biggest part of the appeal of vacation isn’t the destination at all. Maybe it’s that vacations give us permission to notice…linger…pay attention.
The trouble comes when we assume that careful attention happens only during vacations, and then we spend most of our lives rushing through the very days that make up the most of our lives.
The Command Hidden in the Flowers
There’s a passage in the Sermon on the Mount that came to mind as we drove past those daylilies.
Jesus says:
“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow...” (Matthew 6:28)
One thing I remember from my Koine Greek classes in college is the verb we translate “consider” isn’t a suggestion, or a casual invitation — grammatically it’s an imperative. A command.
Jesus isn’t saying: “Hey, folks if you have a moment and it’s not too much trouble, you might enjoy looking at some flowers.”
He’s saying: Pay attention! Look closely! Learn from these lilies!
The flowers aren’t just decorative — they’re teachers. Noticing them isn’t optional. It’s part of being fully alive.
The Magic of Ordinary Time
As you know, I’ve been thinking a lot about Ordinary Time lately. Not just the liturgical season, but the ordinary stretches of life itself.
The Tuesdays. The grocery runs. The familiar roads. The dishes. Mowing the grass. The laundry. The routines we perform so often we hardly think about them.
It’s easy to assume the magic lives elsewhere…like vacations, special events, and milestone moments. But what if we’ve got it all backwards? What if Ordinary Time is actually the most magical of seasons? Not because extraordinary things happen every day, but because ordinary things happen long enough and consistently enough to become extraordinary!
Gardens grow. Children grow. Friendships deepen. Skills develop. Books get written. Quilts get stitched. Lives take shape. All of it happening quietly, in the middle of ordinary days.
And perhaps that’s one of the great invitations of Ordinary Time.
Are you ready to become curious again? Are you willing to look at familiar places with fresh eyes? To drive the roads we’ve already traveled as though we were seeing them for the first time?
What if we stop postponing wonder until vacation? What if we stop postponing life until some future season? What if we notice what’s already blooming beside the road.
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: What beauty in your ordinary life have you stopped seeing simply because it has become familiar?
An Invitation: This week, drive a little slower. Take the long way home. Notice the flowers in the ditch. Appreciate the familiar face across the dinner table.
You don’t need pay for a plane ticket to pay attention.
“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow...” — Matthew 6:28
Indeed, I shall.
With you in the growing,
