We Sit In the Shade of Trees We Did Not Plant
Seeds. Soil. Graduation. Glory. I'm never, ever going to forget his words.
There’s nothing quite like the combination of surprise and nostalgia tucked inside the portion of Facebook called “memories”. Every time I remember to check the daily collection of previous “on this day” posts, it’s like opening a time capsule of old photos, status updates I’ve long forgotten, and captions dating back to those awkward middle school days.
Last month, with a single click, I was transported to my college graduation. “10 Years Ago Today”, Facebook declared. “How in the actual world can that be possible?” I said to my computer screen. And yet the pixels told the truth and the calendar confirmed it: A decade has passed since I donned a cap and gown, slipped into red high heels, walked across the stage (while fervently praying I wouldn’t trip) and received a piece of paper to mark the conclusion of four incredible, difficult, beautiful and life-changing years.
Time is a funny thing, both slow and stretching and shockingly quick. Blink and suddenly the present becomes past.
Somehow, though, in the decade of days since commencement, two sentences have stayed in my memory—no Facebook app needed.
I thought of one line recently as I sat in a classroom two buildings away from the stage I danced barefoot on in shows every Spring and then carefully crossed in heels that one morning in May. Truth be told, I’ve thought of it hundreds of times, because the seasons keep shifting and the reminder remains.
On a May day ten years ago, our beloved college president offered this line as an encouragement and an invitation to go and do the same for the ones who come behind:
We sit in the shade of trees we did not plant.
In other words, because of the seeds sown generations ago, we’re able to find a little bit of respite from the heat. Because others came before us, watering and tending with care, we get to rest and enjoy beauty we can’t sign our names to. Our right-now lives are changed because someone somewhere at some point gave sacrificially and showed up faithfully.
Once upon a time someone planted a seed, and now we sit in its shade.
There are dozens of women who have shaped me in some way, often by simply observing how they live their regular daily lives, but there are generations more, like the early Christian women martyrs I learned about in that classroom last fall, whose legacy lives on like branches growing out and up and on and on.
When I wrote about the women, I hoped to do so in a way that encouraged us to listen to their echo, to slow down long enough that we don’t miss the message they gave everything to declare and, to the death, refused to deny: the Kingdom will not be shaken.
But today, as I read those fall words that hold true and consider a decades-old line about seeds and shade, an unexpected connection comes to mind.
In Mark 4, after telling the parable of the sower and the soils, Jesus said:
“How can I show you what the kingdom of God is like? What story can I use to explain it? The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the smallest seed you plant in the ground. But when planted, this seed grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants. It produces large branches, and the wild birds can make nests in its shade.” (Mark 4:30-32)
In case we missed the surprising shift from big and grand to tiny ordinary things that really do change history, the one who is called both Gardener and King assures us it’s true:
“The kingdom of God is like someone who plants seed in the ground.” (Mark 4:26)
Ten years ago, hours before crossing the stage, I emailed our college president to say thank you for those four full years. Within minutes he replied with a prayer specific to what I shared, alongside a note of personal encouragement to me. The only other line I remember from graduation morning? It wasn’t declared in an auditorium. Instead, tucked quietly inside an email, he wrote “You are wired for glory” before commissioning me into the next chapter.
Somehow, he made time during commencement weekend to plant a seed of truth and encouragement. It wasn’t for show or to be known—he simply saw and stopped and then spoke words I’ll never forget and want to pass along to you today.
Each of us is wired for glory. Each of us is invited and commissioned to plant seeds of kindness, love, encouragement and truth. We may not get to see the branches that eventually stretch to offer shade, but what would happen if we chose to trust the timeline to the Gardener? What if we dared to push back against the widely seen, the popular and the pixelated, by choosing the smaller things?
Few of us will sit in the shade of trees we ourselves planted, but every single day we walk a path and rest in the shade that was made for us long ago by names we’ll likely never know.
May we go and do the same.
You are wired for glory, friend. Let’s plant some seeds.
💛 a behind-the-screen note
Due to some big Life Happenings, I’ve been particularly quiet online the last couple months. I’m writing every single day for clients—that’s part of my full time job, you just wouldn’t know those are my words when you stumble on the posts! ;) My own writing, however, happens in the late night hours after I clock out of work. Full-time work is what pays most bills, while paid subscribers here (so generously) help cover part of the cost of sending emails + putting time toward my own writing (what you receive here/on social media for free) instead of working late on extra client projects in order to cover cool things like the cost of living (LOL the bills, you guys, they just keep on coming for us all—oof).
(Extra big shout-out to my single self-employed gals reading this… I have dozens of messages from y’all related to this mostly quiet part of navigating daily life and I’m just here to say I see you, you’re doing it, one day at a time, one to do at a time, one seed at a time. You’re wired for glory and also please please sit down in the shade and rest a minute or ten today.)
I hope, and fully intend, to have more time toward new words in the coming months… nearly every minute of non-work-time has gone toward those Happenings. It has been A Journey to say the least, and I’ll start sharing some of it outside of the paid subscriber group soon! But today I wanted to acknowledge the shift and thank you for sticking around (sincerely, thank you) and say hello, you (unfortunately) might not see the new posts but I’m slowly stepping back in.
Because I stopped sharing as consistently, the algorithm will do its “you’re hidden” thing. (Really though: If you don’t “feed” the feed often enough (posting frequently /consistently) or if you refuse to “pay to play” by boosting your posts, it hides your new posts from those who are already following along. It’s a frustrating fear-tactic, really, because it can be a loop of “I must show up or it’ll basically disappear. I can’t step away to attend to offline things otherwise online posts will be hidden when I’m able to come back. When I’m there, I need to post hot takes of some kind, make a statement of some sort, because it’ll be seen/shared/engaged with for better or worse, and the algorithm quietly pushes everything else down to the bottom of the feed.” No, no, and absolutely no thank you. (Soft thoughts > hot takes.) Listen, I work in marketing and I believe in the good that can and does come through social media but I’m just all the way out on playing the game—in fact, two dear friends of mine (who also write online) and I have legitimate rules and guardrails for ourselves to keep it that way, to be people and not platforms or profiles or pixels. If that’s interesting to you, the three of us talk about it on a regular basis and I’d be happy to share more! But suffice it to say, one very long paragraph later, that you likely won’t see all/most (possibly any) new posts from me for a while . . . not because they aren’t there, but because they’re pushed down/hidden. (Today’s IG post was shown to 37 people out of 10,400. The hiding is real.) So here’s me waving hello from here to say if you’re on Insta or Facebook, I’m slowly easing back in. I’m here! I’m there! You just might have to visit the actual account or engage with a post for future ones to start appearing again. 🙃
To that end, two easy/quick/free things that tell the algorithm “please show me her next post” → Liking this post or clicking the heart at the top or bottom of this email (that’s a great way to support any author who puts together something (free or paid) that arrives via Substack!).
More soon. :) For now, here’s a just-for-email-subscribers hint to the happenings: 🗝
I always love this reminder! Jami Nato once wrote "we are always living in someone else's garden". It sticks with me!