“The most important stuff I learn are things I already knew.”
A guy said that yesterday during Q&A after a class. It’s a powerful reality.
In 1900 human knowledge doubled approximately every 100 years. By the end of 1945, the rate was every 25 years. Currently it’s 13 months. We long ago became overwhelmed with information.
I like exploring new ideas. I’ve learned some cool new tech stuff recently about the coding that goes into building websites. It’s fun to type a few lines of code and see their effect show up, then mess around and see what kinds of variations can be created.
“New” is interesting and necessary, but I agree with my new friend. What matters most isn’t fresh and flashy. What matters most is what I already know. I need someone to remind me.
I’ve been thinking lately about this simple statement.
We drink from wells we did not dig
It’s a summary of this passage from Deuteronomy 6.
When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. (Deuteronomy 6:10-12)
It’s intended as a reminder to the people of the Exodus of God’s provision as they entered the Promised Land. But there’s a broader principle.
I live in a wonderful city I didn’t build. I ride on roads and trails for which I didn’t pay. I live in a beautiful state explored and settled by others, in a country whose relative liberty was secured by others’ vision and sacrifice.
I drink from wells I did not dig. So how am I to respond?
I’m grateful, to God and to the people whose efforts allow me to enjoy so much of what I take for granted.
And I’m responsible, I think, to leave something behind, to build something with all I’ve been given by God. It’s not enough to say thank-you and take all I can for myself. I need to leave a legacy.
I eat the fruit of trees I didn’t plant because others planted trees they might never enjoy.
My friend reminded me to reflect on the wells I dig and the trees I plant.
You?
