The Farmer’s Faith

Faith is not a substitute for preparation. It is what allows us to prepare when the outcome is still uncertain.

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My grandfather, whose idea of “the farmer’s faith” became a lesson passed from one generation to the next.

My father often repeats something he learned from my grandfather.

He calls it the farmer’s faith.

A farmer takes something valuable — something he could keep, consume or sell — and puts it into the ground.

The seed disappears.

In a sense, it has to die.

Then the farmer waits.

He waits for rain that is not guaranteed.

He waits for favorable weather that is not guaranteed.

And he waits for a harvest he cannot yet see.

He gives up something he has today because he believes in something that does not exist yet.

My grandfather called that faith.

The older I get, the more I understand what he meant.

You have to plant before you need the harvest

Most of us would prefer certainty.

Show me the opportunity, and then I will prepare for it.

Show me the return, and then I will invest.

Show me that the idea will work, and then I will commit.

Show me the harvest, and then I will plant.

But life rarely works that way.

The opportunities that eventually matter often require something from us before we know whether they will ever arrive.

Preparation usually comes before opportunity.

Investment comes before return.

Learning comes before recognition.

And planting comes before rain.

Looking back at my own life, I can see moments when I was planting without realizing what the harvest might eventually become.

A radar I didn't know was coming

Years ago, I accepted an aviation position that appeared, at least on paper, to be a step backward.

Then a new radar system arrived.

I became fascinated with the technology.

I stayed close to the engineer implementing it. I learned the software. I asked questions. I practiced. Eventually, I helped train others.

What initially looked like a smaller position placed me exactly where I needed to be when something new arrived.

I could not have planned it.

But I could be prepared for it.

That distinction has stayed with me.

An office I painted myself

When I was 26, I started my first formal company.

We called it Metrópolis Constructora Inmobiliaria.

The ambition was considerably larger than our resources.

I wasn't an engineer. We didn't have the capital to construct anything. In fact, despite the word Constructora in the name, we never built a building.

I painted the office myself.

I decorated it myself.

We advertised properties in newspaper classifieds and distributed flyers at traffic lights.

At the time, I thought I was trying to build a real estate company.

Today I realize I was also planting something else.

I was learning how to become an entrepreneur.

That seed would remain with me long after Metrópolis disappeared.

Sometimes the seed is literally in the ground

Years later, Dominican Balloons needed land for its operation.

We acquired approximately 6,000 square meters in Punta Cana.

At the time, the land had a practical purpose.

We needed somewhere to operate balloons.

I wasn't buying it because I had calculated what Punta Cana real estate might be worth more than a decade later.

Yet years passed.

Punta Cana grew.

And land acquired for one purpose became one of the most valuable assets in my financial life.

I planted without knowing what the harvest would look like.

Sometimes we only recognize the seed after we see what grew from it.

But faith is not a business plan

There is a danger in telling stories like these after we know how they ended.

We can make every decision sound brilliant.

It wasn't.

I have made decisions that worked and decisions that didn't.

I have planted things that produced a harvest and others that produced very little.

The farmer knows this better than anyone.

Not every seed survives.

Not every season is good.

The rain may come late.

The weather may turn.

The harvest may disappoint.

That is precisely why my grandfather's idea matters.

Faith exists because the outcome is uncertain.

If the harvest were guaranteed, planting wouldn't require faith.

It would simply be a transaction.

The farmer still has to work

The farmer's faith is not passive.

He doesn't throw seeds from his window and wait for a miracle.

He prepares the soil.

He chooses the seed.

He plants.

He works.

He protects what he can.

He pays attention to the conditions.

And then, after doing everything within his control, he accepts that some things remain outside it.

That distinction matters to me.

Faith is not a substitute for preparation.

Faith is what allows us to prepare when the outcome is still uncertain.

That applies far beyond agriculture.

It applies to starting a company.

Learning a new skill.

Building relationships.

Making an investment.

Changing careers.

Creating something nobody has asked for yet.

Sometimes you have to do the work before the world gives you evidence that the work will matter.

I am planting again

Today, I find myself doing it again.

With CanaCity, I am building in a real estate market whose future I believe in but cannot completely predict.

With Punta Cana Inside, I am investing in a studio, conversations, relationships and stories without knowing exactly where they will lead.

There is no guaranteed harvest.

There never was.

What I can control is the quality of what I plant.

The preparation.

The work.

The consistency.

The relationships.

The decisions.

And then comes the part that cannot be controlled.

The rain.

Three generations

I don't know how many times my grandfather said those words.

I know them because my father kept repeating them.

And now I find myself repeating them too.

There is something beautiful about that.

Long before we talked about entrepreneurship, strategic vision, return on investment or personal development, farmers already understood something fundamental about building a future.

You cannot harvest what you were unwilling to plant.

And you cannot always demand certainty before you begin.

Maybe that is why this simple idea has survived through three generations of my family.

Put something valuable into the ground.

Do the work.

Accept the uncertainty.

And have the faith to wait for the rain.

That is the farmer’s faith.

— Luis Leonardo
Punta Cana, Dominican Republic