It All Started With Ducks and Tomatoes

A quiet reading.

My wife loves homegrown tomatoes, but the past few years have been unkind to her garden. The harsh West Texas weather made growing these treasures nearly impossible. Thankfully, a kind friend from church stepped in to help. Growing tomatoes—both in the blazing sun and in his hothouse—is his passion. For years now, he’s shared his harvest with us, ensuring that my wife (and I) could still enjoy these homegrown gems.

Just last week, he delivered another batch of his hothouse tomatoes. But this time, something was different. The delivery couldn’t happen at church, as it always had. He’d recently suffered a stroke. And yet, despite his health struggles, and by relying on a good friend, he still made sure we received the tomatoes. They are, as always, wonderful.

Reflecting on his generosity, I was reminded of the sacredness of giving. It was then that I came across an essay by Eric Clayton in Now Discern This. Clayton tells the story of “Duck Duck Jeep,” a phenomenon where Jeep owners leave rubber ducks on each other’s cars as a simple gesture of goodwill. Clayton writes, “I’m drawn to these ducks: They’re simple tokens of goodwill, deposited on the hoods of strangers’ cars… They don’t lead with ‘me’; they point first to ‘us’. I hope you have a good day; I hope these bring you a smile; I hope together we bring this world a bit of joy. These ducks challenge us to wonder: What will it take to create an ‘us’?”

And then it struck me—don’t tomatoes do the same thing? Both the ducks and the tomatoes are small, simple tokens of connection. The ducks may be offered to strangers, while the tomatoes are shared with neighbors or friends, but the purpose is the same: to create a sense of “us.” Each gift builds a bridge of goodwill, reminding us of the joy that comes from sharing what we have with others. As I pondered this, I saw something deeper. These small acts of kindness—whether through ducks or tomatoes—are sacramental in nature. They remind us of God’s abundant generosity and call us to reflect that same generosity in our lives. Each gift, though seemingly ordinary, carries within it a divine spark, pointing to the beauty of community and the sacredness of giving and receiving.

Thinking back, I realized how tomatoes have been woven into my own story of connection. Early in our marriage, I gave my wife a photo of our first homegrown tomatoes resting on the rail of our back porch. At the time, we were living in South Carolina, far from our roots. On the picture, I had written, “From West Texas to Greenwood and back.” Even then, tomatoes weren’t just a crop—they were a way of reaching out, building bonds, and expressing care. Much like the rubber ducks, these small, ordinary gestures carry extraordinary meaning. They remind us of the power of community, generosity, and the profound beauty found in simple acts of love.

And in those moments—whether through a kind friend’s tomatoes or a stranger’s rubber duck—we glimpse something holy: the quiet, faithful work of God, knitting us together in love.

~ Originally, the opening of Shared Tomatoes

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