Skip to main content

Legacy

God governs our starts, steps and our stops.” —Pastor Keisha Battle Spivey

 I had the pleasure to take part in an interactive seminar that challenged attendees to go beyond practically aligned, goal driven, vision boards and to create a different type of masterpiece, a legacy board. I’m no Picasso and was fresh out of creativity; but after the message, I felt compelled to the challenge.

As the facilitator shared her message, I started to ponder upon two things:

Who had “deposited” seeds into me?
Who had I “transferred” those seeds into?

I come from a traditional lineage of “alpha females” that set the bar high, so naturally I’m drawn to bold, strong leadership. I briefly thought about the most powerful, influential voices that had transferred wisdom and impacted my “NOW.”

First, I recall Bishop Atwater’s words, “You can be pitiful or powerful, but you can’t be both.” 

Then Sister Quay Hudson’s insertion of “Don’t ALWAYS assume that you are the student in every setting.” 

Apostle Alicia Daniels prophecy that “God is going to send strangers to be kind to you.” AND HE DID!

 Pastor Keisha Spivey’s most recent, “What are you writing with your actions?” 

Not to short change, the Hannah’s that came alongside in good and bad seasons that prayed and stayed until I could hold my head up. To family, that cheered, cried and prayed me through droughts. And also to the rock of my family, Mrs. Tiney Lynch that introduced me to Jesus and servanthood.

What had I passed along or given back?

I pray that I planted, watered or nurtured a few seeds of my own as well.
I pray that God continues to strengthen, stretch and shape me to be used for his glory. 
I pray that my woes, my opps, and my pain will transpose the itchings of my heart through the pages of black and white when I can’t find the courage to speak, but my love can be felt.
I pray that I’m able to inhale the beauty of Mount Kilimanjaro through God’s eyes and become of an advocate for his people.
I pray that I can be a help, not a hindrance.

As we created our “legacy board,” God confirmed through “my pieces” that it was time to shift.

Where there is no vision, the people perish.” —Proverbs 29:18

Who do you have the audacity to become? 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Broken Covenant

Once upon a time— I wanted to believe something was real so desperately that I silenced the Spirit within me just to keep the illusion alive. I saw every red flag— not as warnings, but as tests of how much  I was willing to endure to feel chosen. I asked no questions because truth was already whispering, and I feared what obedience would cost me. So I made a covenant with denial— calling lies “grace,” and confusion “patience,” because the truth felt too vast, too holy, too disruptive to the future I had built in my mind. I clung to potential like it was promise, and mistook absence for peace. Yet the weight of it— this thing I called love— crushed my spirit daily. Still, desperation dressed itself as loyalty and convinced me to stay. And it didn’t get better. It decayed. Quietly at first… then unmistakably. Each time God unveiled truth, I chose the comfort of shadows over the calling of light. I pleaded. I prayed. I begged— not for revelation, but for permission to remain where I w...

From Chaos to Calm

After a while… the need to be heard at full volume begins to dissolve. The rooftops grow silent. The flames you once fed with trembling hands no longer feel like power— only exhaustion. What you burned never built a home. And somewhere along the way, you realize— not every echo returns, not every seed takes root, not every mountain was yours to climb. The grace you poured out like water in a desert, the love you offered with open, unguarded hands— it did not come back the way you imagined. And still… you are here. So instead of fighting what refuses to bend, you loosen your grip. Not in defeat— but in awakening. You release the need to be answered, to be chosen, to be understood by those who never learned your language. Your hands, once reaching outward, begin to rise— not in desperation, but in devotion. Upward. Open. Steady. God… I see You now in the quiet I once avoided. I hear You not in the thunder— but in the space where my striving used to live. And I am ready. Something within ...

Do Not Resuscitate (DNR)

What unsettles me most about some people is not the harm they cause— but the silence that follows it. No conviction. No trembling. No evidence that a soul was ever stirred. As if something sacred once lived there… and quietly left. What remains is form without fire. A body that breathes, but does not  feel . A Walking corpse. Spiritually vacant,  yet socially skilled— fluent in imitation, but foreign to truth. They move through people like weather— touching everything, anchoring nowhere. I once mistook that emptiness for mystery. Confused detachment with depth. Thought restraint was discipline, when it was really disconnection. But there was  no rootedness in him— only appetite. An endless hunger dressed as desire. A man grazing on bodies, scrolling through souls like they were disposable moments. Not searching. Not building. Just consuming— to quiet something unnamed within him. Unhealed wounds don’t stay still. They wander. From bed to bed, from face to face, from high ...