Planting Seeds

A Story of Faith in Action

I was six years old, shoes caked in red dust, running with a group of kids through the village in Zambia. We chased chickens, kicked homemade soccer balls, and and swung from the branches of the trees. We were wild and free.

We sat in the shade to rest, and one of the kids offered me a green mango.

“It isn’t ready yet,” I said, and the boy shook his head.

“It’s better this way,” he said with a smile.

I took a bite. The skin was hard, and the sweet nectar hit my tongue. It was sour, but vibrant. Unlike anything else I had ever tasted. A new flavour. A new smell. A new experience.

I didn’t know anything about hunger, or how little these kids had. I only knew that I was welcome. I only knew that I was loved.

Sitting with these kids in the shade of an umbrella tree, the breeze rustling the leaves above, I felt safe. I felt like I was at home.

And although I didn’t realize it at the time, a seed was planted in me that day.

I grew up in Zambia, Africa. My parents worked for an NGO there, and my childhood was spent in Lusaka.

This is where I was first introduced to Christianity. Following my dad to the field, where he worked alongside farmers, helping them get access to tools, seeds, and small business loans. Visiting schools, and witnessing young kids receiving books, pens and uniforms for the first time.

Every time we visited a village, my dad would catch the eye of someone and start speaking in Chi-Nyanja, the local dialect. Before long they would be laughing and carrying on. He felt at home there, and everywhere he went. He wanted people to feel seen, heard, and appreciated. He wanted to break down walls and barriers, and give people dignity and respect. But he didn’t do it through grand sweeping actions and public declarations. He did it with a smile, and twinkle in his eye.

And the idea of Christ coming to give a voice to the voiceless, to lift up the downtrodden and oppressed…that really started to resonate with me.

My dad always used to say to me, “We’re not here to preach the gospel. The work that I do is an act of faith. My faith motivates me to do the work that I do.”

I remember once we took a trip as a family to Cairo, Egypt, and a taxi was driving us across town. My dad sat in the front seat and asked the taxi driver “So I hear there are pyramids around here somewhere.”

I thought to myself “what? You know there are pyramids here, dad. It’s Egypt!”

But that’s not what my dad was asking. He just wanted to connect with this taxi driver. He wanted to give him the chance to speak. He wanted to offer him dignity, a platform, and a voice. He wanted to remind me…and maybe everyone around him…that even small gestures of attention can carry enormous significance.

That’s what my dad was like. Curious, interested in others, ready to listen. Eager to connect.

It was another revelation, changing me from within. His words and his actions planted a seed in my heart.

Faith is not just something we believe. Faith is something we do. And the seeds we plant in the lives of others, in small gestures and ordinary acts, have a way of growing beyond what we can see.

Watching my dad, I realized faith wasn’t about grand gestures or being right. It was about showing up. About noticing people. About listening. About planting a seed, even if you never see it grow. That lesson has stayed with me, shaping how I try to live today…even when it’s messy, even when it’s small, even when no one is watching.

St Francis of Assisi said:

Preach the gospel always. And if necessary…use words.

That was my dad. Walking the path. With humility. Living out his faith. Showing the gospel in actions, not just in words.

I’ve got two little girls. They are 6 and 8 years old.

And I’m trying to teach them to be kind. To be caring. To be considerate.

But that doesn’t really amount to much if that’s not how I act in front of them.

If I tell them to get off the screen, but them I’m on my phone all the time.

Do what I say, not what I do…right?

In the winter, they love to climb all the piles of snow on the way to and from school. So we need to remember to leave early, to give ourselves enough time for the adventure. And I need to remember to relax, and not rush. Because it’s not just about getting to school on time. It’s about the journey that takes us there.

And watching my girls transform those snow hills into Dinosaur Land, Atlantis, and the Himalayas, I realize that patience, attention, and presence…these are acts of faith.

Sometimes that trip takes a long time.

But those small acts of attention, kindness, and respect…they add up. They are faith in motion.

And when enough of them stack up…they tell a story about who you are, and the impact you’ve made on the world. Even the smallest act of faith can ripple outward, far beyond what we can see or imagine.

Jesus Christ said in Matthew 25:35.

For I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.

And the disciples asked “When? When did this happen? When did we give you food, or something to drink? When did we welcome you?”

And he responded “Truly I tell you. Just as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.”

Just as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.

When we help others, we help Christ. Even in small ways. Even in ordinary moments. Even when no one else notices.

But how does that work in the real world? How does that work today?

It’s seeing Christ in the other. And being open to the possibility of the divine in everything.

For me, it’s making breakfast and lunch for my kids. Making sure that they’re fed. Letting them know that they are loved. Showing it in my actions. Being present with them. Giving them my attention. Being intentional about the time I spend with them.

At work, it’s listening to my colleagues. Affirming the good work they are doing. Letting them know that they are valued. Celebrating their achievements. Even when I’m tired or distracted. Even when it’s easier to be self-absorbed. Even when the recognition isn’t public or immediate.

And in the world, it’s smiling as I walk past someone on the sidewalk. Letting people into traffic. Giving a wave when people let me in.

It’s being present, and open to the moment. Open to seeing Christ in everyone and everything.

But it is not always that easy. And I fail more often than I’d like to admit.

When my kids are yelling too much…sometimes I yell at them to “Be Quiet.”

They don’t always want to eat the food that I make for them. Sometimes they’d rather have cookies, ice cream, or literally anything else.

At work, I sometimes get self centred. More concerned with my own achievements and accomplishments than my coworkers. More focused on my own objectives than the shared vision.

And sometimes I don’t let people into traffic.

I’m not perfect.

And that’s okay.

1 John 1:8-9 says:

If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us.

You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be right all the time. You just need to point in the right direction.

And try your best.

Admit when you’re wrong, and try to learn from your mistakes.

My dad wasn’t perfect. He lost his cool. He wasn’t always around. He made mistakes.

But he never gave up. He was always ready to try again.

He spent over 40 years on the African continent. Working in grassroots communities. With regular people, just trying to feed their families, and send their kids to school.

I wonder how many seeds he planted. And how many of those seeds sprouted, and bore fruit.

He first moved to the Congo in 1969, and worked in a small village. Building, planting, walking alongside the community. And when he left a few years later, that community was better off than when he first came.

Decades later, my dad visited the Congo again, and went back to that same village. And it was so much worse off than when he first came. War, political unrest, militia groups. Things completely out of his control had ravaged that community.

So what was it all for?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that he was present for the people he was with at that time.

With the taxi driver in Egypt. With the farmers in Zambia.

And I would bet there are people in that village in the Congo who still remember my dad. And what he did there.

He planted seeds. Maybe they’ll sprout today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in fifty years. Maybe never.

But he did what he could with the time that was given to him. Faith is about showing up. Faith is about planting seeds, even when the harvest is uncertain.

From a kind gesture in a Zambian village, to the farmers my dad worked alongside, to my little girls climbing snowy mountains at home, the lesson is the same: faith is about presence, care, and action. Every small gesture matters. Every small act plants a seed. And in God’s timing, those seeds may grow into something beautiful beyond what we can imagine. And sometimes, those seeds will grow in ways you will never see…but that does not make them meaningless.

And the problems of the world are not just out there. They’re right here at home, as well.

Who are the voiceless in your community? Who are the downtrodden and oppressed? Who are we called to welcome, to lift up, and give a voice to?

What is one small act you could do today, or tomorrow, to welcome the stranger?

I was just a kid in Zambia when I first learned about the inequality in the world. Being handed a green mango by a kid in a dusty village. A kid who had far less than I’ll ever know.

It was not a rude awakening.

It was a simple act of love, and care.

The stranger…welcomed me.

Micah 6:8 says:

He has told you, O mortal, what is good;

and what does the lord require of you

but to do justice, and to love kindness

and to walk humbly with your god

That’s what I wish for every one of you as well.

To do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.

To plant seeds, in the hope that one day they will sprout, grow, and bear fruit.

Amen