There comes a quiet moment in life when you begin to look both ways at once.
You look back—at mentors who believed in you, at parents who prayed over you, at seasons of growth and seasons of failure. And you look forward—at children becoming parents, at grandchildren discovering who they are, at the unfolding story of a family still being written.
Nancy and I now live close to our children and grandchildren. Our days are filled with school pickups, ballgames, Sunday evening family dinners, and small conversations that may seem ordinary but are anything but. These are the sweetest years of our lives. But sweetness carries responsibility.
The faith that was handed to us was not ours to reshape. It was entrusted to us. And what is entrusted must be cared for—not guarded with fear, but passed on with love.
Legacy is not accidental. It is cultivated.
My grandfather planted churches. My mother pastored them. I planted a church. My children serve Christ in their vocations. The thread is not institutional loyalty. It is faithfulness to Jesus.
Legacy is not about being remembered. It is about passing on what matters most. It is about faith that holds firm in a shifting culture. It is about love that endures through every season. It is about truth that anchors the next generation. It is about stories that remind us who we are—and whose we are.
Taught and caught
My grandpa and grandma, Elias and Fannie O’Dell, lived across the road in their retirement years, down a winding lane through a grove of Missouri oaks. As a young boy, I made that walk almost every day. Before I left, Grandpa would usually reach into the plastic coin purse he kept in his pocket and hand me a penny or a nickel. From there I’d walk to the only store in Flat, Missouri. Five cents bought a lot of candy back then, and I felt like the richest boy in the world.
Seventy years later, I can see more clearly what I couldn’t have understood as a boy. Those simple walks, those ordinary moments, were shaping me. They were forming something deep inside—something good, something lasting.
The things that made my life, my family, and even our country so wonderful weren’t complicated. They were the values taught to me by my parents and grandparents, reinforced at school and at church, and lived out in front of my sister and me day after day. They weren’t just taught. They were caught. Absorbed. Inherited. Anchored.
The One Tree
More than anything, I want to pass along the faith to our children. More than reputation. More than ministry accomplishments. More than anything I have built or led.
C. S. Lewis writes in Mere Christianity: “Human beings look separate because you see them walking about separately… if you could see humanity spread out in time, as God sees it, it would look like one single growing thing—rather like a very complicated tree. Every individual would appear connected with every other.”
Connected. Not isolated lives. Not random stories. But one living thing—growing, branching, rooted. Nancy and I stand somewhere in the middle of that tree. Roots below us—Elias and Fannie O’Dell, Aaron and Ida Lee Hodge, Ted and Sallie Lacey, faithful saints whose prayers still water our lives. Branches beside us—Audra and Justin, Jared and Renee—raising their own families, carrying forward what they were given. And small, tender branches above us—grandchildren whose eyes are watching, whose hearts are forming, whose faith is still being shaped.
Everything depends on what flows through the tree. If the faith flows, the tree lives. If the faith is severed, the branch withers.
The faith we pass along is not merely information. It is formation. It is what our grandchildren see when they watch how we treat one another. It is what they absorb when they sit at our tables. It is what they learn when they see us repent, forgive, and pray.
Jesus is that trunk. He is the life of the tree. If we remain in Him, life flows. If we disconnect from Him, no amount of effort can keep us alive.
That image, the tree, is the heart of my new book, The One Tree: Faith, Legacy, and Courage for a Confused Generation. You can get it here: amazon.com/dp/B0GS5V8D87
Be kinder at home than anywhere else
When I was a young dad, I began to notice something disturbing about myself. I was often kinder to people I didn’t even know than I was to the people I loved the most. My wife. My children. They were the ones who absorbed my frustration. They were the ones who felt the edge in my voice. My little children, scanning my expression, hoping that today would be a kind day.
So I made a decision. I created a “house rule.” It was more for me than anyone else. Here it was: We will be kinder to the people in our own family than we are to anyone else in the whole world.
If your children have to wonder which version of you is coming through the door, something needs to change. Because long after the cashier forgets you, your children will remember. And the legacy you build at home will matter far more than the impression you leave in public.
Let them see you bow
If there is one thing a father must model, it is humility before the Lord Jesus. When my children were still at home, I tried to let them “catch” me praying in the morning. On my knees. Not performing. Just praying. There is something about a child seeing his father kneel that reshapes his understanding of strength. In their eyes, Dad is strong. But when they see that same man kneel before Jesus, they learn something eternal: strength flows from surrender.
A simple faith displayed consistently to your wife and children will outlive you. It will be remembered. It will be repeated. It will be passed down from generation to generation.
Show up
Every year I load up a camper with three boys and head for the woods. Daniel. James. Joel. Three grandsons. Three personalities. One sacred responsibility. People see a camping trip. I see legacy.
Between the meals, there is space. Card games. Fishing. Boredom. Yes—boredom. In that quiet space, something happens. They talk. You listen your way into their hearts. Remove the noise. Remove the screens. Sit by a fire. They open up when they feel safe.
Being present takes planning. Focused attention creates emotional security. Faith is caught more than taught. Being a grandfather is not a hobby. It is a calling. And I pray when my grandsons look back, they will remember more than s’mores. They will remember a man who showed up.
What I pray for the branches
My prayer has become simpler as the years pass. May our branch remain alive. May Audra and Justin be deeply rooted in Christ. May Jared and Renee stand firm in truth and tender in love. May our grandchildren inherit a faith that is clear, courageous, and kind. May they find the tree intact. And when they are old, and their own grandchildren gather around their tables, may they say, “We are still connected.”
“These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.” — Deuteronomy 6:6–7 (NIV)
There is much more in the book
This article draws on Part Six of The One Tree, the part called Legacy. In the book you will find the full chapters behind what you just read: “The Tree,” “House Rules,” “Dads (and Grandpas), Be Humble,” and “The Annual Camping Trip.” You will also find “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “Chant’s Hill,” “Make This the Best Day of Your Life,” and “The Queen’s Diamond,” a story about a grandson, his mother, and a ring worth more than gold. Before those, the book walks through my roots in Missouri, my mentor Ken Mishler, the 1970 Asbury Revival, and the years of building and testing in ministry.
This is not a traditional memoir. It is a record of lessons learned—about family, leadership, courage, mentorship, conviction, and the sacred responsibility of passing on the faith intact. My hope is not to win arguments. My hope is to strengthen foundations. Legacy is not measured by applause. It is measured by endurance.
If you have children or grandchildren, this book is for you. Get your copy of The One Tree today: amazon.com/dp/B0GS5V8D87
Your turn
Who planted faith in you, and what did they do that you still remember?
Source notes
C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York: HarperCollins, 2001; originally published 1952), Book IV, Chapter 9.
Scripture quotation is from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
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