Someday This Will All Be Yours
What we leave behind says a lot about what mattered to us. Lately, I’ve been thinking less about the things my family might inherit—and more about the words I hope they will keep.
There’s a cringeworthy post I’ve seen floating around social media. Maybe you’ve seen it too.
An older woman is standing in front of an old curio cabinet filled with things most people would never use, probably don’t want, and definitely don’t have room for. I assume the cabinet is dusty because curio cabinets usually are—and I start sneezing just thinking about it.
And then comes the infamous line:
Someday this will all be yours.
My parents didn’t have much during their lifetime. They were solidly middle-class Americans, living mostly paycheck to paycheck. They survived on one income, scraped together enough for a modest house and one car, and enjoyed the occasional meal out.
But they were frugal to a fault.
My dad could find almost any excuse not to spend money. One misstep by a server and he’d proclaim, “No tip!”
If grapes went up a few cents: “No grapes.”
But my parents always said they wanted to leave us their nest egg.
To which I would practically beg, “Spend your money. Buy the grapes. Tip the waiter. I’m okay. Really.”
Buy the Grapes
My dad’s nest egg was very intentionally saved for my mom. Before he died, he gave me strict marching orders: use that money to make sure she was taken care of.
I did.
But Mom was always afraid the money would run out, and she carried on the frugal family tradition. I tried numerous times to convince her that she could comfortably live out her life and even splurge here and there.
She wouldn’t listen.
“I want to leave you kids something.”
And when both of my parents were gone, she did.
It was more than I anticipated, and I found myself wishing she had taken the trip. Bought the extra outfit. Ordered dessert without thinking twice.
The inheritance also came with Daisy, her beloved nine-year-old Chihuahua—the final item in my marching orders.
Daisy was not what I would call an easy dog.
But she was definitely better than a curio cabinet.
Now that I’m in my retirement years, I can’t help thinking about what I want to leave my kids.
What will my legacy be?
I know I’m not the only one who ponders such things. We think about financial legacy, which is good and appropriate. I certainly do. How do we take the trip, buy the outfit, go out to dinner—and still leave a little nest egg for our family?
Thankfully, I have an excellent financial planner to help with that. I let her worry about the numbers so I don’t have to.
I’d rather spend my energy thinking about what else I might leave behind.
Something that won’t culminate in a resounding:
Nooooooooo.
Something Worth Leaving
The most logical answer for a writer might be a memoir.
At a writing seminar, I was once told that memoirs generally work best when the writer is famous or has one heck of an interesting story. Of course, anyone can technically write a memoir. The bigger question is whether anyone will want to read it.
That thought was part of what got me started writing children’s books.
The emphasis is on the littles I love rather than on me.
“Each book becomes my way of wrapping my arms around them—and maybe even their future children—every time they pick it up.”
As they grow, I hope my writing will grow with them and evolve toward stories for older readers. I’m already starting to think about the six-to-ten-year-old crowd—maybe even a Soccer and Wild series.
And the best part?
I get to watch them enjoy the stories now, while I’m still here to enjoy them too.
Those children’s books became baby steps in my writing journey. But I’ve always known there was another book somewhere inside me that had yet to be written.
After creating my website and venturing into blogging through The Journal, that call began tugging at my heart again.
I kept coming back to one thought:
“Writing has a way of preserving what matters most.”
But what matters most?
More Than a Dusty Curio Cabinet
I let that question roll around in my mind for a while, and slowly but surely, I kept coming back to the book of Ephesians.
Because more than anything else, I want my kids, my friends, my family—all my people—to know that faith and God’s Word are not some dusty curio cabinet filled with things from another generation that nobody quite knows what to do with.
“God’s Word is not some dusty curio cabinet filled with things from another generation that nobody quite knows what to do with.”
God’s Word is alive.
It is full of grace and truth, blessing and hope.
And I began wondering:
How do you leave a legacy that helps people reconnect with God in a fresh way?
I believe Ephesians is the vehicle to do just that.
Ephesians has always been one of my favorite books of the Bible. It’s my go-to.
But I had never really stopped to ask myself why.
So I started this great adventure of weaving stories from my own life—the ones I think are interesting, anyway—into the truths found in Ephesians.
But it isn’t here’s a story, and now let me tack a Bible verse onto the end.
It’s Scripture first.
Then a life story that makes the truth sticky—something memorable enough to make a reader pause and perhaps see that truth differently in their own life.
And somewhere in that process, I began to understand why this book has always captured my heart.
Jesus was the very best storyteller. He used simple, purposeful, memorable stories to help people see truths they might otherwise have missed. His stories revealed the heart of God—and we are still telling them today.
That matters to me.
I want to wear those sandals and follow in His footsteps.
Words I Want to Leave
I’m currently on Day 22 of this 90-day journey, and the process has been absolutely invigorating. There is something wonderful about slowing down, chewing on a few verses at a time, and mining the archives of a life I’ve already lived.
These are words I want to leave.
Words I hope will preserve the things that matter most.
The devotional is called Meet Me Here.
It’s a 90-day journey through Ephesians designed to give readers a fresh glimpse of God. Along the way, they’ll probably learn a little more about this life I’ve lived—a life filled with some glorious twists and turns.
Some good ones.
Some painful ones.
But somehow, all of them have led me closer to my friend and Savior, Jesus.
So to my kids, my grandkids, and perhaps one day their kids:
Someday this will all be yours.
I hope you like it.
Continue the Journey
If this story encouraged you, I’d love for you to continue the journey with me.
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