Love over Legacy

I recently visited the Carolina Coast, and it made me reflect on how some men leave legacies just because they stayed somewhere. Blackbeard docked his ship off the Carolina coast, and now centuries later, people still step onto that sand with a certain energy in their chest. Blackbeard wasn’t just a pirate. He was a symbol. A performance. There’s something strangely magnetic about the persona of men like Blackbeard. I even feel it sometimes. That pull toward the myth.. A man who made the world react to his presence whose name still carries weight long after his death. And it’s tempting, isn’t it? To study a figure like that and feel a spark of admiration. He lived boldly. He made people afraid. He left something behind. This all really makes one consider. How do we want to be remembered? 

Blackbeard  was a man who thrived on fear. He used image, performance and spectacle. Braided fuses into his beard, lit them on fire to look like a demon. He made himself into a myth so people would submit before they even fought back. He was a master of psychological warfare, a pirate who ruled by illusion. There are towns, trails, ports, and crossroads where this man once stood, and the ground still seems to remember them. The culture remembers them. The place bends around their memory.The place itself is not inherently powerful. The place becomes what it is because of the people who walk it. Places are containers for legacy. When someone walks into a town shaped by pride, they have a choice: Repeat it or redeem it. But neither person, place or persona is eternal. 

Not everyone chasing legacy wants to rule the world. Some just want to belong.The goal is to be part of something bigger than themselves, but without the pressure of controlling it. They want proximity to power without the weight of leadership. To feel important, without being held responsible. Others go the opposite way. They don’t want to follow anything. They want to lead everything. They want to build empires, shape narratives, set the tone. They crave control. Some people make people the enemy. They build their identity in opposition, always fighting, always reacting. They need someone to blame so they can feel justified in their own pride.Others make themselves the enemy. They live in guilt, self-hatred, performance. They’re always striving, never arriving. And then some treat legacy itself as the opponent. They compete with ghosts. They walk into old cities or step onto historical ground and think,I have to be greater than the one who came before me. They live for the scoreboard of history. They’re stepping into a contest. A contest of legacies.Between the inherited pride of men like Blackbeard And the fresh, humble courage of those who dare to challenge that inheritance.They’re fighting to rewrite what time remembers. They may notice the actions of blackbeard are bad but he does not care as long as his name replaces his in legacy. 

Then there’s another group. Who does follow but only follows what is true, they follow love over legacy and Christ over the world. They neither seek to impose suffering on others nor deny its reality; instead, they embrace suffering as a genuine and transformative experience that refines their character. Above all, they rest in the assurance that God Himself has endured suffering alongside them, offering solidarity and strength.They don’t need to be the center. They don’t need to be remembered. They just want to be faithful.

The Tower of Babel was humanity’s first great monument to pride. It was to be a display of legacy, yet, We can never reach God. Not by towers. Not by success. Not by religion. Because our very nature is fallen, and without Him, we are evil to the core. we twist love, fight goodness, and exalt ourselves. God didn’t abandon us. He chose to meet us in the dust, not demand we reach the heavens. this plan led straight to Jesus Christ God in flesh, loving us even as we mocked Him, abused Him, crucified Him.He knew how evil we are and still loved us unto death. “Love your neighbor as yourself” doesn’t mean emotion it means effort. You don’t have to feel good about yourself to get to work on your body or mind. You can say, “I’m weak,” and still get up and train. even a godless person can do this. when u see urself as fat and dumb to get better, the Godless do this for legacy, In the same way, loving others doesn’t mean feeling butterflies it means “I will act in love even when I feel hate, because God did that for me.” and only A christian can do this because only Christ demonstrated it correctly. The godless pursue legacy. The godly pursue love. It is the hope that “even if I die, I will matter.” It’s pride’s most refined form one that wears the mask of virtue, ambition, and greatness.They suffer, they grind, they bleed but for a name that will not save them. You can hate yourself and still train harder than those who love themselves. You can serve a false purpose and still outperform those with truth. The standard of success of the godless will always be false, for the only true standard of success is faithfulness. Where the godless train to immortalize the self, the believer trains to kill the self. to sacrifice, to become more like the One who made them. Discipline Without God is Power Without Purpose.   

I’ve witnessed many in my generation have already killed the god of money. Even if unintentionally. We’re no longer obsessed with wealth the way our parents or grandparents were Even in low-income neighborhoods, the goal isn’t riches, it’s control. Those who gain money through crime often stay in the same streets they came from. They don’t want to be seen as wealthy  they want to be seen as feared. You see it in local gangs, in trap culture, even in cartel leaders who flaunt power more than luxury. Wealth isn’t the idol anymore. Image is.we want to be seen. Heard. Remembered. Not for owning a yacht, but for making an impact. Being aesthetic. Being poetic. We wear trauma like a badge. We broadcast our pain like it’s currency. We want to matter but we don’t want to be humbled. That’s what legacy has become for my generation: a prettier name for pride. I didn’t get seduced by fear. I got stuck in legacy. Now I see love is also greater than legacy. My idea was that it wasn’t about money. That real men don’t chase wealth they chase meaning. And meaning, I thought, was found in impact and In being remembered for doing what’s right. The final step isn’t building something worthy of remembrance. It’s laying yourself down for someone who already remembers you. 

He didn’t tell us to become legends. He told us to become servants. To carry crosses. I don’t want to be feared.I don’t want to be famous. I don’t even want to be remembered. I want to be faithful because of Grace. I want to be surrendered. The world is full of people building empires of meaning, chasing aesthetics of virtue, trying to be famous for being wounded or wise. That is all Babel. I want my generation to understand that surrender not status is the only path to real peace. To stop chasing clout in the name of calling. To stop pretending that visibility is purpose. Christ is the goal. Surrender to Him is the only purpose. And that message is what I need to deliver not as a brand, not as a voice, but as a brother.

When I look at it all,  I see the Machiavelli mindset behind almost every cultural trend. This idea that you can lie, cheat, steal, and manipulate as long as you gain power. And not just power in politics or business. Power in friend groups. Power in storytelling. Power in identity. People post for control. They confess online to gain moral leverage. They smile while stealing. And they justify it all by calling it authenticity. Legacy is not the goal love is. And not the soft, secular “love is love” kind. The bloody, gritty, Christlike love that lays down its life for enemies. The kind of love that says “I’ll act in love even when I feel hate, because God did that for me.” That’s not natural. That’s supernatural. And it only comes from knowing the real Jesus. You can be more disciplined than someone who walks in truth. You can build an empire for a lie. You can hate yourself and still outwork someone who’s free. But you can’t save yourself. And that’s why legacy is a dead end. It leads to applause that doesn’t echo in eternity. I’ve been so caught up in the idea that I need to build something monumental, something worthy of remembrance, something great for God. I need to learn there is no legacy I can make and nothing I can build for God and I need to learn to find great peace in that. He’s already won the victory through Jesus. The cross, the resurrection, the whole story of salvation it’s done. The legacy isn’t mine to create; it’s mine to live in and reflect. But instead of resting in that, I’ve been chasing a legacy as if it were a trophy  or a project to prove myself.That chase has left little room for grace toward myself. When I don’t see immediate results, or when I stumble, I beat myself up. I measure my worth by how much I accomplish, That’s pride hiding behind ambition. It’s the same pride that built the Tower of Babel trying to reach God on my own terms. God isn’t waiting for me to build a monument. The only measure of success should be faithfulness to him. This realization is humbling but freeing: I don’t have to carry the weight of legacy. I just need to be faithful to the legacy God has already secured resting in His finished work and letting that shape how I live, love, and serve. Grace isn’t just for others; it’s for me, too. And embracing that grace might be the greatest legacy I can live out.  I thank God I am a man but may everyday i become more like God. For I get to live not perfectly, not without failure or pride but fully, wrestling with grace and legacy, caught in the tension of surrender and striving. I have known a love that never lets go and a mercy that meets me in the dust. I give great thanks and praise to Him who holds me, not because I earned it,but because He is faithful when I am weak. 

Let your voices proclaim the gospel of Christ, not the shifting sands of cultural trends. For in the end, it is not the approval of men that matters, but the judgment of God.Forget the gilded chests and buried doubloons.  There’s no map to follow, no ‘X’ to mark the spot. The treasure we seek is the joy of surrendering to the will of God. This isn’t about chasing shadows or weaving fantastical conspiracies. It’s about a fundamental commitment to truth, a truth rooted in the unchanging bedrock of biblical principles. It’s about discerning the subtle currents that seek to erode our foundations, to distract us from our true calling. The world throws a barrage of narratives, each vying for our attention, each promising a path to enlightenment. But true enlightenment comes from aligning ourselves with the Word of God. 

Ecclesiastes presents us with two worldviews Under the sun: Life is chance, chaos, and cruelty. There is no justice, only the strong and the dead. Under God: Life is mystery, but not meaningless. The pain has purpose. The tears are not wasted. To live under the sun is to become a fatalist, a Machiavellian strategist grasping for control in a broken world. But to live under God is to submit, to surrender, and to find peace.. The world says, “Do what it takes to win.” Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me.” Genesis tells us that the world was not created to suffer. The Fall fractured everything.This isn’t the world God made, it is what we(I)  broke. Suffering is not always evil. God does not author evil. But He does allow suffering for His glory and our good. Romans 8:18 declares: “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” Suffering reminds us: This world is not home.

Charles Templeton was once Billy Graham’s closest friend and preaching partner. A rising star in the world of evangelism. But while Billy Graham soared in faith, Charles Templeton plummeted into doubt. Why? It was suffering. The doubts of Charles Templeton weren’t intellectual at first. They were emotional. Existential. They rose not from science textbooks, but from the cries of the world: the sight of a weeping mother in Africa, the brutal weight of death, the gnawing question, “If God is good, why?” These doubts haunt more than just Templeton. They haunt the sleepless nights of many saints. After every flood, every earthquake, every tsunami. 

Humans, when they try to control outcomes, do not understand the unseen web of consequences. We want comfort, but not character. We want resurrection, but not the cross. Yet we are told in Scripture, “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways” (Isaiah 55:9). 

Job lost nearly everything: his wealth, his health, his children. Not because he sinned, but because he was righteous. And in the midst of unimaginable suffering, Job did what many of us do he asked, “Why?” At first, Job’s friends gave long speeches, trying to explain his suffering. They insisted that Job must have done something wrong. That’s the world’s view: suffering is punishment. But Job knew better. He had lived with integrity. So he cried out not just in pain, but in confusion. God shows up in a whirlwind and asks Job question after question not to belittle him, but to open his eyes. God doesn’t explain Job’s suffering. He doesn’t tell him about Satan’s accusation. Instead, He gives Job a glimpse of His wisdom, His vastness, and His control over all things from mountain goats giving birth to the boundaries of the oceans. And Job’s response is “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.” In other words: I didn’t need an explanation. I needed a revelation. That’s what God gave, what was needed.

 Jonah didn’t understand why God would save Nineveh. He hated the people of that city. But the lesson of Jonah is not about Jonah it’s about God’s right to be God. Jonah hated the idea of God’s grace for “those people.” It was never about Jonah. He was never the point, Yes, he’s the prophet. Yes, the story bears his name, yet even ironically, Nineveh was part of Assyria, a brutal empire that would eventually fall, and later give way to Babylon, who would take Israel into exile. But that’s what makes God’s mercy even more outrageous. He gave grace to those who would one day become the enemy again.Because God’s mercy isn’t built on human timelines, or fairness. It’s built on who He is. Jonah is a mirror for us. He exposes how we want control over God’s mercy. We want to decide who’s worthy. Centuries later, Jesus refers to Jonah when confronting the Pharisees, the self proclaimed righteous men. He goes on to explain he will only give them the sign of Jonah, but the sign of Jonah was about Christ not Jonah. Jesus went willingly into death. Jesus bore not His own guilt, but ours.And when He rose again, it was not only a second chance for Himself but for all humanity. The sign of Jonah is not Jonah’s disobedience. It’s God’s mercy in the face of rebellion. Jonah obeyed God the second time but his heart was still conflicted. He preached to Nineveh, yes, and the people repented. And Jonah’s worst fears came true: God forgave them. You may not understand why God shows grace to certain people.  You may not understand why suffering exists. You may not understand why He asks you to go, or stay, or speak, or forgive. But obedience is not about your understanding. It’s about God’s authority, God’s goodness, and your trust in Him. Jesus is the better Jonah and better than us. He didn’t run from sinners; He ran to them. He didn’t sit outside the city hoping for wrath; He entered the city to bring peace. He didn’t complain about  God’s mercy; He embodied it, and he did this because it was the nature of God who is Christ. 

God does not explain suffering from a distance. He enters it. He was mocked. He was betrayed. He was nailed to a tree. Christ suffered with us. Not only for us but with us. And when we suffer for good, we suffer with Him. There is no other worldview where God weeps beside you. Ecclesiastes 7:16 warns us, “Do not be overly righteous.” That means self-righteous. Don’t pretend to be your own savior. Don’t become your own advisor. Don’t fake holiness or chase your legacy like the world tells you. It is not about legacy. It is about Jesus. You can’t change your heart. You can’t save your soul, you cant fix this broken world. But Jesus already did. Don’t walk alone. Get accountability. Invite truth. Receive correction. Don’t be a fool. Live fully. Laugh. Love. Do good. Be angry but do not sin. Hold both joy and justice. Embrace paradox. As my football coaches said “embrace the suck.” God made both the good and the hard days. And He walks with you through them both. You may never know why you suffer. But you can know Who walks with you through it. Don’t become your pain. Don’t become your legacy. Don’t become your doubt. Let Jesus transform your heart. For it is all from Him, through Him, and to Him. 

My mission isn’t to add to God’s legacy (which is perfect and complete in Christ) but to reflect it. It’s about being faithful to the legacy God has already secured. This shifts the burden from your shoulders (“I have to build this great thing”) to resting in His finished work (“I get to participate in what He’s already doing because we know that what he is doing is exactly perfect) godless pursue legacy, suffering and striving for a name that will not save them. My work stems from a place of rest in His victory, not from a desperate need to earn His favor or prove worth. In the world, we labor even when we wish to rest, only to fall short. But under God, we labor even when we are free, because love compels us. Through this truth efforts become an act of worship and obedience, rather than a performance for results. surrender not status is the only path to real peace and Christ is the goal. Surrender to Him is the only purpose. True wisdom and peace come from surrendering to Christ’s Lordship, even when aspects of God’s plan or your own circumstances don’t make perfect sense to your human mind. This doesn’t mean abandoning intellectual pursuit, but placing the pursuit of God Himself, and active obedience, above the idol of complete comprehension. When comprehension becomes a prerequisite for faith, it essentially replaces God with our own intellect.

 Release the need for perfection. Your struggles, including being in a rut or facing a difficult environment, are not disqualifiers; they are opportunities for God’s grace and power to be evident through you. Give yourself grace to start small, even if it’s imperfect. The goal isn’t flawlessly executed work, but faithful, surrendered effort. Consciously choosing to extend grace, patience, and kindness, even when you don’t feel like it or when people are challenging. This is a direct application of “love over legacy.” It’s focusing on the well-being of others (your “neighbor”) rather than how you are perceived or what you gain. It’s one thing to love an idea or a crowd or a cause. It’s another to choose kindness when your parents make comments that sting, or your friends seem indifferent to your effort. I say I love them and I do but living that out with grace, patience, and kindness is nearly impossible. Yet all things are possible with Christ. that’s what love over legacy demands. It’s what Christ modeled choosing others over perception, presence over performance. I’ve built imaginary standards for the people around me, often without realizing it. Expectations about how they should behave, speak, laugh, or respond. And when they don’t meet those unspoken rules when they’re mopey, awkward, or embarrassed I get irritated. I withdraw or lash out, not because I hate them, but because they’ve disrupted a vision I clung to. A legacy of control, order, or emotional payoff. I’ve often loved my image of them more than I’ve loved them. So I pray to have guidance on how to act differently. To be the one who laughs even when the room is tense. To be the fun one, even if it means being mocked. To risk the humiliation of joy in a world that prefers detachment. To extend warmth when others are cold, not because I want to be perceived as good, but because I know God is good. This is not a death to legacy for the sake of having a legacy with no legacy but its surrender. Which, On the surface can sometimes look backwards. People don’t thank you. The silence stays. The pain doesn’t fade. But somehow, I still believe God is doing something underneath it all. Grace anchors me deeper in His story. Not mine. His. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe becoming more like Christ means learning to carry love even when it doesn’t seem to work. That’s not victory as the world defines it. But it is faith. Therefore this is not our home, for the systems of this world lead to ruin, there is no schedule and there is no monthly pay, instead there is one gift given by grace to us once for all. Sometimes loving someone looks like holding your tongue when you’re frustrated. Sometimes it’s asking how someone’s doing even though they’ve never asked you. Sometimes it’s cleaning the kitchen without recognition, or choosing to stay present when you want to storm off. These aren’t acts of weakness. They’re small rebellions against pride. Against legacy. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve missed the point. I can hand out a hundred devotionals. I can write a million words, stack up articles, make my arguments airtight, and still not live the love I’m trying to write about. For it is said, wisdom will even fade away but Love is eternal. Better to stay and work through the tension with someone I care about than to run off and “do ministry” for strangers while my own house goes untouched. It doesn’t mean those devotionals don’t matter. They do. But if I can’t be patient in the kitchen or gracious in a moment of conflict, what am I actually preaching? So while I continue the ministry work. This is my first mission.  I can’t complete myself. I can’t fix myself. But I can trust the One who said Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled. That’s a promise. Not a theory. Not even a hope but a promise. He began it. He sustains it. He will finish it. The beauty of the gospel is not that we become perfect overnight, but that we are being perfected by grace, through faith, in Jesus. Every stumble, every sigh, every weary night spent wondering if I’m doing any of this right He’s still working through it. He’s still making me more like Himself. Even when I can’t see it. And that’s enough for me today. Lord, let it be enough for me tomorrow, too.

Instead of asking “How can I get people to join my mission?” Ask “Who around me needs to be loved, helped, encouraged  right now?”  We carry not a campaign, but a cross. Take time daily to ask: “Am I trying to create a legacy… or am I following Jesus today?” Resist urgency when it becomes anxiety. Faithfulness is never frantic. Your job is not to “launch” something flashy, your job is to remain in Christ. Make sure the first fruits of your time are going to silence, Scripture, confession, and worship not planning, branding, or messaging. Prioritize presence over platform.
Go slow enough to see people. Talk long enough to actually love. Lead with weakness.
You’re not required to have all the answers. You’re not failing if you feel scattered. The apostles felt this too. Paul wrote “we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed… always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested” (2 Cor. 4:8–10). Let it birth repentance and realignment, not guilt. Don’t let the enemy shame you for time spent getting close to God. 

If you do this then you’ll stop riding the highs of affirmation and the lows of discouragement. Then peace won’t depend on your environment, your productivity, or your results. You won’t be “behind” constantly. You’d wake up and know: I’m not God’s marketing team. The pressure to perform would dissipate. Your worth wouldn’t hinge on impact or output. You’d still work but the work would feel freeing, not frantic, regardless of the work or despite the quantity you are provided with. Instead of calculating who can help your mission, you’d be available to those God puts in your path. Friendships and the authentic relationships you crave would be more tangible. You’d have divine interruptions that actually matter. You’d stop aiming for “reach,” and actually reach people. And if nobody notices? You’ll still be free. If your plans don’t unfold? You’ll still be faithful. Because that’s what God wants most, not your movement. Just you. 

So I urge myself and anyone reading not to get too caught up in embracing suffering for its own sake. There’s a kind of mindset out there that glorifies endurance and pain as proof of strength or virtue. It’s easy to slip into a posture of grit and grinding, thinking that pushing through hardship is the goal in itself. But suffering, while sometimes necessary, is not the center of the gospel. Don’t get so focused on carrying your own cross that you forget the finished work of the Cross. That’s the whole point, Grace. You carry your cross not to prove something, not to earn anything, but because you are honored to follow the One who already bore it all for you. This is not about performance anxiety dressed up as humility. I don’t want to isolate myself and call it sanctification. I don’t want to focus so much on my wrestling that I lose sight of His victory. Even rejecting the idea of legacy or deconstructing performance-based faith can become its own kind of identity, its own pressure, its own false gospel. Don’t turn “Did I love well enough? Did I surrender deeply enough? Am I kind enough?” into a new scoreboard. These are not tests for gaining favor with God. His favor is already given completely, eternally through His grace and His finished work. We contribute nothing to it. These questions are only meant to align your will to His, and to gently draw your heart back to surrender, not to prove anything, but to rest in what’s already been done. And this may not work for everyone, but asking myself those questions reminds me of that truth. If it just confuses you further or weighs you down more, then disregard all of it. This isn’t a method, it’s a reminder. The Cross is enough. It is a difficult thing when even faith can become an idol. but we wouldn’t have faith if not for a promise, and we wouldn’t believe the promise if we did not know the character and we know the character because of the work that is already complete. When we use our own faithfulness to define our worth, we make ourselves the source of something only God can give. That subtle pride, the belief that we are holding things together through our own strength can sneak in quietly, disguised as devotion. But it is not ours to carry. So let us be careful not to turn obedience into a personal aesthetic. It was never meant to be a brand. It’s simply a response to a love that already found us, chose us, and finished the work for us.

Thank you,

𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖑𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊