Sustainability Starts in the Soil and Cultivated by Presence

By Josh Singleton | Founder, The Neighborhood Garden Project

Today, I sat in on a webinar about fundraising. It was supposed to help, give direction, maybe even some encouragement. But to be honest, it felt heavy. A lot of people showed up tired and looking for hope. Instead, they got more to do. More pressure. More talk about how to stretch every dollar and work even harder.

My heart started pounding as the tension rose. Not because something dramatic happened, but because no one else seemed to notice. Most people have gotten so used to this kind of pressure that it doesn’t even register anymore. It’s just how things work now. We’ve learned to function inside systems that were never meant to bring life. But just knowing there’s another way—that there’s a different rhythm, a slower path, a more faithful way to grow—it made the tension even louder. When you’ve seen something better, it gets harder to pretend this is okay. The garden has ruined me for anything else.

And while I was listening, it hit me, the format of the webinar was part of the problem. It was quick. No real space for stories. No time to actually hear from people. Just experts giving advice and moving on. Attendees were reduced to a chat sidebar with a word limit, just enough space to say something polite, but not enough to share what’s really going on. Probably so no one goes off on a tangent that might need to be confronted. It felt like a transaction, not a conversation. Like the whole thing was designed to keep things neat and under control, not to help anyone breathe.

We keep using words like “sustainability,” but we’re not talking about how God designed things to grow. Real sustainability is built into creation. Into rest. Into rhythm. Into the way seeds grow underground before anything shows up above. But instead of looking at the garden, we just keep adding more strategy and more pressure.

The truth is, a lot of nonprofits are tired. The people leading them are doing good work, but they’re burning out. There’s this constant need to prove, to perform, to keep up. And then we look to experts with long resumes to tell us what to do. But most of the time, you can’t even talk to those people unless you go through their assistant, who has another assistant. Somehow we built a system where only certain voices are allowed in—and the rest get filtered out.

The ones we’re supposed to learn from? We can’t even reach them outside the short time they’ve set aside to teach us. And sure, we don’t have time for every conversation—we’d never get everything done. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve built our days so full we’ve left no room for people. When we live with margin, not constantly rushed or overbooked, we have time for every level of conversation. We stop filtering who’s worth it and start seeing the ones right in front of us. We stop cutting out transformation in the name of efficiency or busyness.

That’s also why our team looks different. There’s no chain of command. No hierarchy. Just shared stewardship. We don’t operate from titles or top-down leadership—we operate from trust. Everyone on our team is on assignment, and we walk side by side. Each person brings something unique, and because we’re all aligned to the same King, there’s no competition, only collaboration. God brings people to each of us in His timing, and we trust that. He knows who needs what, and He knows which one of us they’ll receive it from.

We don’t rush people. We don’t chase them. We don’t assume they’re ready. We stay rooted and available, knowing the ones who are truly ready will reveal themselves. And when they do, we’re not scrambling to find help; we are the help. Every resource we need has already been given. Not to impress, but to sit with the one. To really be there. Fully. Without a clock running.

We’ve also come to understand something hard but true—most people don’t want to be transformed. They might want relief, or inspiration, or advice. But actual transformation requires surrender. And that’s rare. So we don’t try to force it. We just stay faithful. Because when even one person chooses surrender, when they truly enter the process of becoming, everything changes. God multiplies small amounts. And we’ve seen it—over and over again.

The evidence is in the soil. We’ve watched it a million times. While experts with titles, credentials, and busy schedules are hard to reach, the soil is always ready to teach. Always available. Always honest. It doesn’t charge a fee. It doesn’t require a booking link. It just tells the truth. And that truth often reveals more about us than we expect. Sometimes we’d rather hope for change through a transaction than through relationship with the One who authored our very being. But creation doesn’t lie. And when you’re ready to listen, the soil will always speak.

And then there’s this, this picture of what it actually looks like when people come together without all the lines and labels. A women’s recovery group working right alongside a homeschool group. No one labeled. No one separated. No one asked to explain why they came. Just people in the garden—present, open, and willing. Most came with quiet reasons, things they may never say out loud. But the garden doesn’t need the explanation. It meets each person right where they are. This is what unity looks like. This is what presence feels like. No professionalism. No performance. Just healing and belonging rooted in shared work and holy soil.

We’ve been told that funders are the ones who make the biggest difference. But they’re not the main characters. They’re meant to come alongside, not control. To bring breath, not pressure. But when there’s no relationship, it just becomes about money, not mission. And I believe God lets that system fall apart when it needs to—so something better can grow.

That’s why I walked away from the webinar thankful. Not because I have all the answers. But because I know we’ve been shown a different way. A slower, simpler one. We’re not trying to look impressive. We’re just trying to be faithful. To stay close to what God asked us to do.

The garden teaches me that every day. Seeds don’t beg. They draw what they need from the soil because they were planted on purpose. And if they don’t get what they need, they don’t grow. That’s the risk—not wasting money, but missing the fruit that was supposed to come.

So no, we’re not chasing funding. We’re not shifting our mission to fit the world’s pressure. We’re staying rooted. And we believe the right people will come, people who want to sow into something real. Something lasting. Something alive.

If you’re tired, you’re not alone. If you feel the tension, you’re not crazy. There is another way. One that doesn’t burn people out. One that grows deep. One that trusts God to bring what’s needed.

I’ve been cultured by the garden. And once that happens, sustainability any other way just doesn’t work. I can’t pretend pressure is wisdom.
I can’t build for speed when I’ve seen what grows slow. I can’t chase what God said would come if I stayed rooted. The garden has ruined me for anything else. And I thank God for it.