As I sat quietly, the kind of quiet where time bends and thoughts begin to unfold like sacred scrolls, I pondered a simple yet weighty question from a Bible devotional I had just opened: What legacy do you want to leave behind? A question so often brushed past as poetic or abstract—yet in that moment, it hovered over me with deep invitation. The devotional defined legacy as “what you leave behind that remains.” Not just in memory, but in impact. In imprint. In eternal echo.
And it struck me: legacy is not about fame. It’s not about the scale of success in the world’s eyes. It’s about what survives you—what breathes because you once breathed. What speaks because your life once whispered the truth.
What Do I Want My Legacy to Be?
The first answer that rose up from within—before I had time to reason, edit, or spiritualize it—was this: a legacy of love, of faith, and of hope.
Not surprisingly, this holy triad brought to mind a dear friend who once reminded me, during a sacred fast, of the teaching from Love Without End—the divine triangle of Love, Faith, and Hope. The triangle is more than a shape. It is a design. A revelation. A witness to the triune God—Father, Son, and Spirit. It is a visual theology, balanced and intentional, never collapsing, because every side supports the other.
In geometry, a triangle is the most stable shape. Three sides, three angles—all supporting and dependent on one another. No matter the size or orientation, its form is secure. So too, in the spirit: Love, Faith, and Hope form a trinity that holds the weight of life’s most fragile moments. Yeshua, as revealed in Love Without End, places love at the top point—the pinnacle. Not because faith or hope are less important, but because love is the crown. Love is the fuel behind faith. Love is the anchor for hope. Love is the only eternal among them (1 Corinthians 13:13).
Legacy Begins With Love
If I am remembered for anything, let it be love. A love that was patient. A love that was bold. A love that burned without consuming others. A love that looked like Christ—unconditional, unrelenting, and unafraid to reach into the mess of people’s lives and sit with them there.
Legacy is not shaped by how many knew your name—but by how many felt known because of your presence. Did they feel safe around me? Seen? Heard? Loved on purpose? Did I carry the aroma of Christ in the halls of the ordinary?
To love like Christ is to live poured out, knowing that the fragrance of that love cannot be erased by time. It lingers—on children’s memories, on handwritten notes, in whispered prayers, in moments when someone decides to stay instead of walk away… because they once saw someone who didn’t.
The Strength of Faith in a Shifting World
Faith, the second point on the triangle, is the backbone of legacy. It’s what holds you when no one sees. It’s what carries you when everything is falling. It’s the yes to God in the dark, when there’s no spotlight, no applause, and no road map. My legacy must be one of unshakable faith—not because I never doubted, but because I never let doubt have the final word.
I want those who knew me to say: She believed. She trusted when she couldn’t see. She prayed when she had nothing left. She waited when others ran. She listened for His whisper in a storm.
Faith is a language that children and grandchildren will speak long after you’re gone—because they learned it by watching you.
The Radiance of Hope That Does Not Fade
Hope is the third angle—the spark in the dark. Hope is what turns your eyes upward. Hope is what gives others permission to dream again. To try again. To believe that God still writes beauty into broken stories.
My hope is not wishful thinking. It’s anchored in eternity. It’s the certainty that God is good, even when life is not. If legacy is what remains, then let it be said of me: She carried hope like a torch through every valley and lit the way for others.
Hope is magnetic. It’s what draws people into the orbit of your life—not because everything was perfect, but because you radiated something that said, “There’s more. There’s still more.”
The Creator’s Fingerprint on My Life
The devotional posed an intriguing observation: that it almost feels sacrilegious to say God left anything behind for us because He is in everything. And yet, there are moments where He did step into time—and then stepped back out. These are holy interruptions—divine fingerprints left in time, seen in burning bushes, torn veils, stable mangers, empty tombs.
And if He did that—left His imprint in time and space—then surely, as His image-bearer, I can too. Not by trying harder, but by being willing. Willing to be used, to love deeply, to believe wildly, to hope fiercely.
We are all made in the image of an infinitely creative Creator. Creativity is not reserved for painters or poets. Every person bears the potential to build something eternal. Through words. Through parenting. Through business. Through compassion. Through joy.
You are more creative than you know. Every time you forgive, you’re creating space for healing. Every time you encourage, you’re crafting hope. Every time you serve, you’re etching love into someone’s memory.
In Time and Beyond Time
So again, I ask: What legacy do I want to live and leave?
I want my life to be a holy triangle. Love that covers, faith that anchors, hope that lifts. I want my children—and their children—to know that I lived not for applause, but for alignment. That I wrote, built, sang, prayed, laughed, cried, gave, and forgave in the name of Jesus. That I stewarded my breath as if it mattered—because it does.
And when I am no longer here in time, may my life still speak from beyond it.
Not because I was perfect.
But because I was willing.
Willing to love.
Willing to believe.
Willing to hope.
Willing to follow Him—even when I couldn’t see the road ahead.
Willing to be broken open so that oil could pour.
Willing to say yes—again and again.
That is the legacy I choose.
And by His grace, it will remain.
And now, dear reader—
What will your breath build?
What legacy will your yes to Yeshua leave behind?
May your life, too, become a living letter.
A legacy of love written by the hand of God.
Not just remembered—but read by generations to come.
Because you, too, were willing.
Let that be the beginning…
Of all He still desires to write through you.
