A Facebook memory from 2016, posted during the Olympics, popped up the other day:
“And in the race between Terrie, the plum tree, and the wasp: it looks like Terrie's coming in first with a pail and a half of plums after overcoming a painful sting to her right hand and two pokes in the eye from wayward twigs. The tree takes the silver, hanging on to a few too-high-for-comfort plums. And the wasp, despite a promising beginning and fierce fight to the finish: dead last.”
In April 2013, when we first viewed our new home, the one and only tree on the property was exploding with gorgeous white blossoms and sashaying in the breeze like Marilyn Monroe over the subway grate. Though the tree looked and smelled wonderful in bloom, I suspected it might bear those sour, tiny plums that serve only to create a major mess in the yard. I wondered how long it would take us to hate the tree. A taste of its fruit in late July confirmed my notion.
But I was wrong.
I needed a little more patience. When our friend Noel saw the tree, he immediately identified it as a Pembina Plum and assured us it was healthy and would produce edible fruit. By late August, we were picking the loveliest, juiciest, sweetest plums and eating them simply for the pleasure of it. Over the years, I’ve made jam and jelly, smoothies and sauces, and fed many fresh plums to grandsons. And yes, the wasps and compost site have accepted their share of the windfall.
While standing on a step ladder picking them (wasp-free!) last week, I was reminded again of something we learned shortly after our move here. A friend told me that her dad planted the tree for his neighbor more than 50 years ago. I never met her father, nor the neighbor who built our house. I simply get to enjoy the results of their labor.
In Joshua 24, God tells his people, “I gave you land you had not worked on, and I gave you towns you did not build—the towns where you are now living. I gave you vineyards and olive groves for food, though you did not plant them.”
When you think about it, we each inherited things we held no control over. Maybe it’s your mother’s nose or your dad’s legs. Perhaps you were blessed with a genetic disease or the famous family temper. Maybe your parents handed down a legacy of poverty or alcohol abuse and you struggle with the same through no fault of your own.
But we forget the many good things that come our way through no fault of our own, every day. Think about your town, your school, your church. Others cleared the land, raised the funds, constructed the buildings, invoked God’s assistance, paved the streets, planted the crops, wrote the books, and invented the conveniences that enrich our lives. Others sacrificed so you could have. If you think about it enough, you can see this through every moment of your day, from the time your feet hit the floor in the morning. We are the beneficiaries of those who have gone before.
The 12th-century theologian and author John of Salisbury said, “We are like dwarfs sitting on the shoulders of giants. We see more, and things that are more distant, than they did, not because our sight is superior or because we are taller than they, but because they raise us up, and by their great stature add to ours.”
What are you planting today that future generations will reap?
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