Throwback Thursday: The Walnut Lesson

If you step into the warmth of my memory, it looks a bit like this room—wooden floors worn smooth by years of purpose, warm brick walls holding the echo of voices, and a flicker of firelight that feels like home.

When I was five, I ran a tiny business under the walnut tree. My dad was my first business partner. He would set out buckets beneath the limbs, and I would fill them—tiny hands gathering black walnuts one by one. Together, we dried them, husked them, polished them until they gleamed, and bagged them in worn, recycled feed sacks. It was labor, yes—but it was joy.

My one loyal customer was my grandfather. He bought the walnuts as a yearly gift for his sister. When he handed me fifty $1 bills, I stared in awe. It was more money than I'd ever imagined holding. I tried to pay my dad, but he quietly refused. So, I did the next most important thing: I bought cat food. At that time, my cats were my world.

Looking back, I see Jesus in that memory. In my dad’s quiet patience, in the way I never felt alone even when picking up walnuts by myself—I know now it was Christ walking the orchard with me. That early experience taught me more than just the rhythm of small business. It taught me the intention behind every task matters more than the task itself.

Even today, though I no longer gather walnuts, I gather hearts. I create through fabric, color, and memory. I build community. Because entrepreneurship, to me, is not income—it's impact. It’s connection. It’s being part of a chain: a father’s kindness, a grandfather’s love, a gift for a sister, and a little girl learning she could make something beautiful from what others left behind on the ground.