Have you heard of the Sunflower Theory?
I couldn’t stop thinking about it this week, so I thought I’d share it with you, dear friend.
We all know that sunflowers follow the sun throughout the day, facing east in the morning and slowly turning west as it sets. They do this to maximize light exposure and support their growth. When they’re young, their main purpose in tracking the sun is energy. Photosynthesis. They are constantly reaching toward the light.
But when sunflowers mature, something changes.
They stop moving with the sun and remain facing east. Why? Because the morning sun warms them more quickly, which attracts significantly more pollinators than flowers facing west. The sun is essential to their life and growth.
But here’s the part that caught my attention:
What happens when the sun goes down?
When the sky darkens and they can no longer feel its warmth?
They turn toward each other.
Why? I don’t know.
The theory suggests that perhaps, in the absence of direct sunlight, they find warmth and light reflected in one another.
And I can’t help but think about how that applies to us.
There are seasons when we don’t feel the warmth of the Son, even though He is still there. Seasons when our prayers feel quieter. When the light feels distant.
Maybe in those moments, we follow the sunflower theory.
We face each other.
We look for light in the people around us.
We let others remind us of warmth when we struggle to feel it ourselves.
To be a little vulnerable with you I’m in one of those seasons right now.
Since returning home from my mission, I’ve tried hard to keep the habits that once came so naturally: daily scripture study, sincere prayer, obedience in the small things. What no one fully prepares you for is how different it feels outside of that environment.
I didn’t choose to walk away. I didn’t rebel. So sometimes I find myself asking, “What happened?” I know God is there. I know He sees me trying. But there are days when it feels a little overcast.
In those moments, I think of the Primary song “A Child’s Prayer”:
Pray, He is there; Speak, He is list’ning. You are His child; His love now surrounds you.
That simple truth steadies me.
Maybe this season isn’t a sign of distance, maybe it’s an invitation to grow in a deeper way. To trust without constant reassurance. To keep turning east even when the warmth feels delayed.
And while I wait for that familiar warmth again, I am grateful for the people in my life who reflect light back to me. My family. My friends. The quiet encouragement that shows up exactly when I need it.
Maybe that’s the beauty of it.
Even when we can’t feel the sun directly, we are never without light.
