How Sunflowers, Hummingbirds, and Fireflies Taught Me to See the Divine

There is a distinct, quiet magic that happens when you decide to slow down enough for the world to catch up to you.

The other afternoon, I was sitting on my back porch, my usual sanctuary from the frantic pace of modern life. In my lap was Plato’s Republic, a heavy text full of grand ideas about justice, the soul, and the nature of reality. In the background, a thin ribbon of incense smoke curled lazily into the air, carrying a rich, earthy scent that always helps anchor my thoughts.

I was deep in the realm of ancient philosophy, trying to grasp Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”, the idea that most of us spend our lives staring at shadows on a wall, mistaking them for reality, unaware of the blinding truth waiting just outside in the sunlight.

Then, something shifted.

It wasn’t a loud noise or a sudden disruption. It was a gentle, internal tug, a sudden urge to lift my eyes from the printed page and move my focus to the giant sunflower growing among the weeds in the planter in the middle of the yard. 

I closed the book. And that’s when the real philosophy began.

The Sermon of The Sunflower

I found myself staring at its sheer, unadulterated beauty. It was massive, a vibrant crown of gold atop a sturdy green stalk, perfectly tracking the afternoon sun. But as I watched, a sudden gust of wind swept across the yard.

The sunflower began to sway. It didn’t just bend; it was buffeted, pushed back and forth by an invisible force that seemed entirely capable of snapping its neck. Yet, it didn’t break. It danced. It yielded to the wind just enough to survive, but remained firmly, stubbornly rooted in its planter, undeterred by the force trying to uproot it. 

Watching this silent battle, a profound sense of awe washed over me. The sunflower wasn’t just a plant reacting to a gust of wind; it seemed to be performing a sacred hymn. In its resilience, in its golden defiance against the wind, it seemed to sing to me of the beauty of God.

Plato wrote extensively about the “Form of the Good,” the ultimate source of all truth, beauty, and existence. Looking at that sunflower, I realized I didn’t need to find the Form of Beauty in an ancient, dusty text. It was standing right in front of me, rooted in potting soil, speaking a language older than words. It was a reminder that God’s signature is written across creation, waiting for us to stop reading about life long enough actually to look at it.

The revelatory nature of creation, that of the creation revealing the creator, can also be found in Psalm 19:1-4: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day, they pour forth speech; night after night, they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.”

A Nod From The Universe: The Hummingbird’s Visit

As I sat there, captivated by the sunflower, my mind drifted back to an encounter I had a few weeks ago in that very same chair. 

I had been sitting quietly reading when a tiny hummingbird materialized out of nowhere. It didn’t just zip past; it flew right up to me. It hovered a mere two feet from my face, its wings beating so fast they were nothing but a hypnotic, translucent blur. 

For a few suspended seconds, time completely stopped. We locked eyes, this tiny, fragile engine of pure energy, and me, a flawed human being, trying to make sense of the world.

Then, the extraordinary happened. Just before it departed, the hummingbird gave a slight, distinct nod of its head.

It was a seemingly deliberate gesture. An acknowledgment. A silent “I see you.”

With that final nod, it flittered backward with astonishing agility, zipped straight up into the sky, and was gone.

Hummingbirds are biological marvels. They are the only birds that can fly backward, upside down, and hover in mid-air. Spiritually, they are often seen as symbols of adaptability, joy, and the ability to navigate difficult transitions gracefully. 

That tiny nod felt like a message from the Divine, a gentle reassurance: “Keep hovering. Keep adapting. You are seen.”

As the word of God tells us in Job 12:7-10, “But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this?” 

The Theology of the Firefly: Hope in The Dark

I had another experience that very evening that capped off my day of reflection perfectly. 

I was watching TV in the living room when I heard my wife gasp from the bedroom, followed by laughter. I went into the dark room, and before I could turn on the light, I saw what had suddenly startled her.

Scampering up the wall behind the bed was a hovering, blinking light, weaving a luminous path upward toward the ceiling. I immediately realized that it was another tiny creature that had recently captured my heart: the firefly. 

I’ve written before about the profound spiritual symbolism of these little bioluminescent wonders. The firefly is the ultimate emblem of hope in seemingly hopeless situations. But to truly understand their magic, you have to understand the relationship between light and darkness.

For instance, it is hard to see a small light in a well-lit area. If you turn on a flashlight in the middle of a sunlit desert, its presence is meaningless. It is redundant.

A light shining when things are going well is often completely unnoticed. But that very same light, no matter how small, faint, or fragile, can only be seen, and seen best, in total, absolute darkness.

When trapped in a dark room, or a dark season of life, a tiny flicker doesn’t just illuminate the space. It changes the entire narrative. It represents hope. It represents salvation.

The light of a firefly is not bright enough on its own to illuminate an entire forest or clear a path through the woods. But it doesn’t need to be. Its brilliance lies not in its power to dispel all darkness, but in its pronouncement. It is a declaration written in neon green across the night sky that light is still present, regardless of, or even in spite of, the overwhelming darkness surrounding it.

The apostle John captures the truth beautifully:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5

The darkness cannot swallow a light, no matter how hard it tries. The moment a light sparks, the darkness is forced to retreat, if only by a fraction of an inch.

I am reminded of the famous quote by Martin Luther King, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

The Wisdom of God In His Creation

Reflecting on the sunflower battling the wind, the hummingbird granting me a moment of recognition, and the firefly signaling hope in the dark, the pieces of a grand spiritual puzzle fell into place.

I realized that God wasn’t just throwing random natural phenomena my way. He was speaking to me through these little creatures, sending a profound message of resilience, presence, and hope.

For a long time, people have chosen fierce animals as their spiritual symbols. They often chose lions for strength, eagles for vision, and wolves for loyalty. 

But there is a quiet, radical power in the humblest of God’s creation. They don’t conquer the night with claws or teeth. They conquer the world simply by being what God created them to be: bearers of light in the darkness and examples of how to face adversity with grace in a world lacking mercy. 

After contemplating this, I have adopted a few core truths for my own life:

• I don’t have to be the sun. I don’t need to have all the answers or light up the whole world. I just need to carry my own small spark into the dark corners of my life and others’ lives.
• I will embrace the dark seasons. Instead of fearing the times when things go wrong, I will view them as the perfect backdrop for grace to be revealed. It is in the dark that our light shines brightest.
• I will stand firm. Like the sunflower, I will let the winds of circumstance sway me, but I will not let them break me. And like the hummingbird, I will move forward, backward, and upward, trusting that the Creator of the universe sees my struggle and nods in approval.

Stepping Out of the Cave

We live in a world that often feels like Plato’s cave. The shadows of bad news, political strife, personal anxiety, and collective despair bombard us. It is easy to get locked into staring at those grim shapes on the wall, forgetting that there is a whole world of light outside.

But every now and then, if you sit on your porch, light some incense, and close your books, God will send a messenger.

It might be a sunflower showing you how to dance in a storm. It might be a hummingbird stopping by to remind you that you matter. Or it might be a firefly, blinking softly in the twilight, reminding you that no matter how deep the darkness gets, it can never, ever put out the light.

So, the next time you feel overwhelmed by the shadows, step outside. Look at the small things. Find your firefly. And remember that the light isn’t just out there in the world. It’s waiting to shine through you.