Enjoying the Shade of Trees We Didn’t Plant

Recently, my mom reminded me of a beautiful proverb: “We are sitting in the shade of trees we haven’t planted.” As someone who sunburns easily, I deeply appreciate a good shade tree—the relief from the beating sun, the refreshing breeze flowing through the branches. My husband, Nathan, often plants trees on our property, knowing it will be our children and grandchildren who will fully experience their shade once they reach maturity.

This proverb captures something I’ve been reflecting on as my “one-word” resolution this year: legacy.

The Legacy of a Teaching Mother

After returning to middle school teaching this year—following fourteen years of teaching in elementary grades—I asked my mom to find my old middle school yearbooks. I wanted to show my students the teachers who left a lasting legacy on me. But the first person I thought of wasn’t just in those yearbooks. She has been with me my whole life: my mom.

For two decades, Mrs. Bylo taught second graders to write beautiful cursive and fall in love with reading. She transformed her classroom into camping themes for Arthur book units (despite not even liking camping herself!). Her students weren’t just hers for a year—she still hangs their ornaments on her tree and remembers their stories, even now that many have children and grandchildren of their own. After twenty years in the classroom, she continued her legacy as principal and superintendent of the same school district for another thirteen years—investing in children for their entire K-8 journey.

When I was in high school, dreaming of becoming the first woman president (comical now, given my tender heart!), Mom would gently redirect me: “Teaching is my mission field. It’s my way of being the hands and feet of Jesus to children, co-workers, and families.” She taught me that living with an eternal perspective isn’t just for those in full-time ministry. Following Jesus right where He has planted us is exactly where He needs us to be.

The Teachers Who Planted Trees for Me

Looking through those yearbooks, I saw the faces of teachers and paraprofessionals whose “trees” still shade my life:

Mrs. Flannigan, celebrating the day I learned to read. Mrs. Cathy Stumpe pulling up a chair beside the students struggling with perimeter, showing me what patience looks like. I remembered Mrs. Whalen’s “tear-jerker” books, which sparked our deepest conversations, and Mrs. Satterfield’s Mathnet episodes, which made math come alive. Mr. Mason’s passion for both science and basketball, and  Mr. Smith’s music classes, where being “on time meant being late”—each planted seeds that grew into how I teach today.

Now, as I teach at the very same middle school where I once sat as a student, I realize the gift of building on what others have planted. My own teachers planted seeds in me that now bloom in my classroom. My kindergarten through fifth-grade colleagues plant seeds in my students that I get to water and tend. The lessons I teach may not fully take root until high school or beyond—sometimes you don’t know the value of what you’ve been taught until you need those skills years later. Yet we keep planting, trusting that someday these seeds will bloom.

What This Means for Us as Mothers

Here’s what strikes me most about legacy: It’s not about us. It’s about thinking ahead to the people who will come after us and wanting to give them the best possible setting to flourish.

As mothers raising elementary, middle, and high schoolers, we’re planting trees every single day:

• The Bible verses we teach them when they’re seven become the truths they cling to at seventeen.
• The way we apologize when we mess up becomes how they handle their own mistakes.
• The prayers we pray over them become the foundation of their own faith.
• The traditions we create become the memories that anchor them.

Legacy isn’t achieved after a few days, months, or even years. It takes decades to cultivate, but once it’s in place, it impacts generations.

Planting Trees Today

The Lord has placed each of us in this specific moment in history, creating us for the good works He longs to accomplish through us. As you think about your family, what kind of shade are you providing for the future?

Maybe it’s:

• The daily commutes to school, where you talk through the day ahead and pray together (letting the kids lead prayer so Mom can keep her eyes on the road)
• How you talk about your own scripture discoveries, showing them that after decades, you’re still on this long walk of obedience—and still finding joy in the journey.
• The way you speak about others, teaching them to see people through God’s eyes.
• The books you read together that shape their imagination and values.
• The way you handle disappointment, showing them faith under pressure.

These feel like small things in the moment—like planting a sapling that seems too small to matter. But we’re not just raising children; we’re raising future parents, spouses, friends, and leaders. The shade we create through our faithful, daily choices will refresh people we may never meet.

Let our hearts be softened to His voice, so we continue planting trees whose shade will bless our families and communities for generations to come. After all, we’re enjoying shade today because someone was faithful to plant yesterday.