Sometimes you take a step forward without knowing what will grow — or who it will bless.
As a young parent growing up on the reservation, I never imagined taking a job 50 miles north of home. When a telecommunications position opened just beyond the reservation boundary, I hesitated — it paid more than I had ever earned, but I doubted I was qualified. Encouraged by my future boss, who saw potential in me before I saw it in myself, I said yes. I did not realize then that I was planting a seed — one small step of faith that would take root, grow, and ultimately change the course of my life.
My title was Marketing Representative. At the time, I didn’t really know what that meant. I would be an advocate for my rez community, sell communication services and products and give presentations. It was all so intimidating to me. I didn’t know a thing about the world of technology and I didn’t want to speak in public. My boss always assured me that I was capable of learning anything and offered simple guidance that stuck with me:
“Leadership isn’t about knowing everything. It’s about knowing who to ask.”
And when frustration hit and I felt overwhelmed, he would say: “It all pays the same, so you might as well be happy.” Best advice ever!
I learned quickly that I loved marketing and communications. I loved helping people. I loved hearing their stories. Public speaking, though? I was terrified. But I would later learn that this one skill, if practiced over and over again, could help me throughout my personal and professional life. After overcoming that fear and with a little courage, I realized I could figure out almost anything if I committed to learning and taking a step forward.
That lesson didn’t stay at the office.
On my way to work one day, a local park caught my eye. Weedy flower beds, unmown grass — a space that could have been beautiful but was abandoned. I loved gardening, and I wondered what it would take to bring it back to life. It sat in front of the housing project where I had lived as a child. Back then it was just an open field with a couple of Russian olive trees for us to climb.
If I could learn to speak in front of people, maybe I could learn how to organize them, too.
One morning at coffee break, I asked a few coworkers if they would help volunteer to adopt the park. We picked an evening each week, brought our families, and started cleaning, weeding, mowing, and trimming. I reached out to local organizations for donations for flowers and money to fix the sprinkler system. Slowly, the park transformed. It was beautiful.
Of course, there were moments of doubt during the process. Nothing ever goes without its bumps. One evening, no volunteers showed up. I had managed to get 12 flats of petunias donated and found myself overwhelmed and planting them alone. As I sat sulking and digging away, the underground sprinklers came on right in my face and soaked me! I thought: Why do I even care? Why am I doing this?
Then, like a moment from the old TV series Touched by an Angel, there was a soft tap on my shoulder. An elderly woman from the nearby housing complex smiled and said, “I just wanted to thank you for cleaning up this park. It’s the highlight of my day when I walk through it.”
I could have sworn she was an angel sent from God. (I know she was!)
At that moment, I understood why I was doing it. It mattered — even if I couldn’t see the immediate impact.
That same boss once told me, “When we are doing good work, we are planting seeds. We need to be patient.”
Over time, I came to understand what he meant. Sometimes the work we do today won’t show results for years. Sometimes the impact may be invisible to us entirely. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t growing.
Even if we never see it, those seeds can take root in someone else’s life — inspiring them, guiding them, or giving them strength long after we are gone.
That lesson still guides me, and it’s the same advice I share with the young people I mentor today.
When I applied for my role at Western Native Voice, the term “community organizing” felt foreign at first. But as I reflected on my experiences — saving a park, organizing a fun run for a good cause, serving on a local committee — I realized I had been doing this kind of work all along. Organizing, advocating, and building community weren’t new skills. They were part of my life from the start.
Community organizing isn’t always about big events or dramatic wins. Often, it’s about quiet, steady acts — showing up, identifying a need, and committing to it over time. But every effort, every seed planted, matters. And every action can grow into something bigger than we could imagine.
I encourage all of you, no mater what your age, to get out in your community and plant some good seeds!