The Seeds We Don’t Recognize
Some of the most powerful moments in our lives don’t look powerful at all.
They don’t come with applause.
They don’t arrive with clarity.
They almost never hint at the scale of the future they’re about to shape.
Most of the time, they look small. Ordinary.
Forgettable.
A woman at a kitchen table.
A pen in a trembling hand.
A whisper of an idea.
A spark that refuses to die.
Legacy rarely begins on a stage.
It begins in the quiet —
in the heat of a small kitchen,
in the unseen places,
with someone saying the first brave, trembling yes.
This is an excerpt from Book 3,
For Such a Time As This: Appointed to Rise,
and it carries the truth at the heart of every destiny:
The power of one seed is never obvious on planting day.
The Seed at the Kitchen Table
It was a sweltering summer day in 1986. The small kitchen was thick with heat—no air conditioning, just a box fan clunking in the window, doing little more than moving the warm air around. My Nan sat at the kitchen table in her slip, sweat tracing the curve of her back, a pen in one hand and a stack of paper in the other.
There, in the quiet of rural New Brunswick, at a table cluttered with tea mugs, loose paper, and the occasional ashtray, a story was taking root. It was fiction, yes—but its characters mirrored the people in our town. Her neighbors, her friends, our family. She wrote into the wee hours, sometimes until the sun began to rise again. The story, born of imagination and grit, would become her first published book in her 50s. She would go on to write another in her 60s, untrained but undeterred.
Nan didn’t come from privilege. She wasn’t raised with wealth, opportunity, or connections. What she had was guts. What she had was vision.
She had come up in a time when women couldn’t vote—and then lived through the moment when they finally could. In a small, conservative town with no famous writers, no literary circles, and certainly no agents knocking on doors, my Nan dared to dream.
She didn’t wait for someone to hand her a microphone. She picked up a pen instead.
Her gumption was fierce. Unorthodox. Sometimes a bit crass and definitely too wild for some of the more “refined” circles. But it was hers and she was never ashamed of her fire. She taught us that our voices mattered. That we didn’t need permission to show up fully.
Nan didn’t just believe in change—she created it. Politically involved, socially engaged, and deeply invested in the next generation, she brought us along to rallies, candidate forums, and political events across the province. She taught us about leadership, about integrity, and about the power of one voice.
Today, my brother serves as a Member of Parliament. He was recently appointed Shadow Minister for Rural Development and now oversees the National Prayer Breakfast of Canada. Under his leadership, that event has grown from 500 attendees to over 1,500—even in the face of political tension, social unrest, and a global pandemic. I think about Nan often when I see him standing in Parliament or when I attend a national event he helped bring together. I see her fingerprints in every step of that legacy.
And I see them in mine, too. In the pages of these books. In my work with one of Canada’s largest NGOs. In every speech I give, every child I advocate for, and every soul I remind: You are appointed to rise.
It all started in a tiny kitchen. With a woman in a slip. Holding a pen. Saying yes.
That is legacy.
That is the power of one seed.
Because the yes becomes the seed—which becomes the tree—which eventually bears the fruit. You may not live to see the fullness of what you start. But make no mistake: your yes echoes.
Kingdoms take centuries to build. Movements take generations. But they always start with a whisper of willingness.
So I ask you now:
What is your yes? What is your seed? What will be your legacy?
REFLECTION — The Smallest Starts Carry the Deepest Roots
Nan didn’t know she was planting a generational legacy.
She didn’t know her simple yes would ripple into Parliament, national prayer gatherings, global humanitarian work, bestselling books, and an unbroken lineage of courage.
Her kitchen table was her pulpit.
Her slip was her armor.
Her pen was her sword.
The world looks at beginnings and calls them small.
Heaven looks at beginnings and calls them seed.
And seeds are never meant to stay seeds.
They break open.
They push upward.
They tear through the dirt.
They grow — stubbornly, silently, faithfully.
That’s legacy.
Not the size of the seed,
but the courage of the one who plants it.
APPLICATION — Your Yes Still Matters
You may think your beginning is too small.
Too late.
Too behind.
Too insignificant.
But look at Nan.
She didn’t wait for permission.
She didn’t wait for conditions to be perfect.
She didn’t wait for the publisher to knock on her door.
She simply began.
And that beginning became the seed that grew a family tree rich with:
✔ leadership
✔ courage
✔ faith
✔ calling
✔ responsibility
✔ influence
✔ purpose
Nan’s yes became my brother’s yes.
Nan’s voice became my voice.
Nan’s fire became our flame.
And now, through my books, advocacy, church partnerships, work with WVC, and the people whose lives I am able to reach — her seed is still bearing fruit.
This is how God writes legacy.
Not in leaps.
In seeds.
JOURNAL OR COMMENT QUESTIONS
1️⃣ What small yes is tugging at your heart right now?
2️⃣ What seed has God placed in your hand that you’ve been underestimating?
3️⃣ Whose legacy shaped you — and how are you passing that on?
Share your answers in the comments — your story may be the seed someone else needs.
The Legacy Hidden in the Soil
So plant your yes,
even if your hands tremble.
Plant your dream,
even if the soil looks ordinary.
Plant your courage,
even if no one applauds the planting.
For every mighty oak
once hid itself inside a seed
that looked forgettable to everyone
but God.
And every generational rising
began with one quiet yes—
a yes whispered in faith,
a yes entrusted to obscurity,
a yes carried by courage,
a yes sealed in obedience.
Because heaven is not moved
by crowds
or platforms
or perfect beginnings—
Heaven is moved by willingness.
And the moment you offer it,
the moment you dare to begin,
the moment you lay your seed in the dirt
and trust God with the unseen—
the future shifts.
Legacies awaken.
Roots take hold.
And what once looked small
becomes the very place
God chooses to grow something eternal.
Heaven always hears the first yes—
even when the world hears nothing at all.
Declaration
You were not placed here randomly—
you were planted here purposefully.
For such a time as this,
you are Appointed.
You are Anointed.
You are Becoming.
Rise with grace.
Rebuild with courage.
Become with wonder.
For the Light within you
was never meant to flicker—
it was meant to shine!