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The Book That Used to Shake My Faith
I used to avoid Ecclesiastes.
Not because it was boring—but because it felt hopeless. I remember trying to read through the entire Bible in the past, and whenever I got to this book, something about it unsettled me. It wasn’t confusing in the way some books are—it was depressing. Every few verses, it repeated the same haunting refrain: “Meaningless, meaningless… everything is meaningless.”
At the time, it didn’t feel like wisdom. It felt like fuel for doubt.
If everything under the sun is meaningless, then what’s the point? Why build anything? Why try? Why care? That message didn’t just clash with my optimism—it shook the foundation of my faith. It made me question God’s goodness, His plan, and most of all—His purpose for me.
I didn’t realize it then, but I had been reading Ecclesiastes the wrong way. I had stopped too early. I never made it to the ending. I never let Solomon finish his thought. I never saw that Ecclesiastes isn’t trying to crush your hope—it’s trying to strip away your illusions.
Back then, I thought I was chasing legacy through faith by trying to “do something meaningful” with my life. But Ecclesiastes exposed how much of that meaning was tied to me. My effort. My success. My impact. And if that’s what legacy is—then yes, it is meaningless.
But if legacy through faith means building on something deeper—something eternal—then Ecclesiastes is the wake-up call we all need. It’s not about how impressive our life looks. It’s about whether God is in it.
And at the time? He wasn’t. Not really.
When It Finally Clicked: A Bible Class That Changed Everything
For most of my life, Ecclesiastes felt like a dead-end—spiritually confusing, emotionally heavy, and ultimately discouraging. But that changed when I started taking a class at the Daystar Bible Institute. It’s a weekly course I’ve been in for years now. What was originally supposed to be a two-year program has stretched into three for me, not because I’m behind, but because I keep going back through lessons I’ve already taken. I get something new every time.
One of those courses walked us through the wisdom books of Scripture—Proverbs, Job, Song of Solomon, and yes, Ecclesiastes. This time, I didn’t skim it. I studied it. I listened as my pastor (now a friend) broke it down and explained Solomon’s voice, his structure, and his purpose in writing.
And for the first time in my life, Ecclesiastes made sense.
It’s not a book of destruction—it’s a book of reconstruction. It tears down false beliefs about life so that we can build something better. It deconstructs the idea that legacy is earned through accomplishments or preserved through monuments. It reveals the fragile emptiness of self-made meaning.
This was when I first started to see the difference between legacy built on works… and legacy through faith.
Solomon wasn’t telling us to give up—he was telling us to let go of the illusion that anything we do apart from God will last. Without God, all our effort is smoke. But with Him, even our smallest act carries eternal weight.
That shift changed everything for me. For the first time, I saw that my legacy wouldn’t come from what I build—it would come from the foundation I build it on.
And for the first time, I realized I had been building on the wrong thing.
What Ecclesiastes Is Really Saying About Legacy
At first glance, Ecclesiastes looks like a demolition job. Solomon tears through wealth, wisdom, hard work, pleasure, fame, and even righteousness—declaring it all meaningless. But he’s not trying to discourage us. He’s trying to free us from a lie.
The lie? That we can build something eternal with temporary materials.
Solomon’s words cut deep because they’re true. Everything fades. Time erases your name. Wealth disappears. People forget you. Someone else takes over what you worked for, and they might ruin it. And in the end, we all go to the grave. That’s the brutal honesty Ecclesiastes offers.
But that’s not where it ends.
Jesus later echoes the same principle in His parable about the two builders. One builds his house on sand. The other builds on rock. When the storm comes, only one stands. That story is the gospel version of Ecclesiastes in miniature. Both men built something—but only one built it on something that could last.
Solomon, after all his searching, lands in the same place. His conclusion is clear:
“Fear God and keep His commands, for this is the whole duty of man” (Ecclesiastes 12:13).
That’s the foundation. That’s the rock. That’s where legacy through faith begins—not with our name, but with our reverence. Not with our effort, but with our obedience.
Legacy through faith isn’t about being remembered. It’s about being faithful.
Because when the storms of time, death, and obscurity wash everything else away, the only thing that still stands is what was built with God in mind and God at the center.
That’s what Ecclesiastes is really saying. And that’s what I missed for years.
The Trap I Used to Fall Into: Chasing Earthly Legacy
I used to chase the kind of legacy that looked good on paper.
There was a time in my life when I genuinely wanted to be a professional poker player. I loved the game—loved the strategy, the thrill, the competition. I thought if I could win enough, earn enough, and build a name for myself, I’d be somebody. Later, that desire shifted toward business. I wanted to start something, grow it, and make enough money to say I made it on my own terms.
But looking back, none of that had much to do with faith. It was about being impressive, not being faithful. It was about standing out, not bowing low. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was chasing a false legacy—one that had my name at the center, not God’s.
And honestly? That pursuit left me spiritually empty.
Even when I accomplished something, it never felt like enough. There was always a bigger win, a better opportunity, another milestone to chase. I was measuring my life by the world’s yardstick—and the more I measured, the more I came up short.
Ecclesiastes exposed that for what it was: striving after the wind.
That’s when I began to understand that a false legacy through faith is really just glorified self-interest. It’s using God’s language to justify building my own kingdom.
But legacy through faith isn’t flashy. It doesn’t always look like success. It looks like obedience. It looks like humility. It looks like building something that might never go viral—but will still matter in eternity.
And I had to learn that the hard way.
A Legacy That Starts With My Family
These days, when I think about legacy, I don’t picture wealth, titles, or recognition. I picture my kids.
I think about my son and daughter and the kind of adults they’re becoming. I think about the way they treat others when no one’s watching, the way they talk about God, and the quiet things they pick up from me even when I don’t realize it. I think about them raising kids of their own one day—and what kind of foundation they’ll pass on.
That’s what really matters to me now.
When I’m gone, I don’t want to be remembered for something I built or how successful I became. I want to be remembered by my family for how I lived. For how I loved their mom. For how I stayed when it was hard. For how I prayed when I didn’t have the words. For how I kept showing up, even when I felt like I was falling apart.
More than anything, I want to be the kind of father whose life points his children toward Jesus—not just with words, but with example.
That’s the dream. That through the faith my wife and I live out in front of our kids, something is planted. Something strong. Something that takes root. And that it doesn’t stop with them. That they carry it to their kids, and their kids to theirs. A chain of faith, passed down one generation at a time.
Because your ultimate legacy through faith starts at home and echoes into eternity.
And if I never get known for anything outside these walls… but my great-great-grandkids walk with Jesus because of the way I lived?
That would be more than enough.
Spiritual Inheritance > Financial Inheritance
There’s a verse in Proverbs that says, “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children.” For most of my life, I assumed that meant money. Savings. Assets. Something financial that could be passed down the family tree.
But I don’t believe that anymore—not completely.
The more I’ve grown in my walk with God, the more I’ve come to realize: that inheritance doesn’t have to be financial. In fact, the most important inheritance I can leave behind has nothing to do with money at all.
It’s faith.
If my kids grow up knowing Jesus, rooted in the truth of Scripture, grounded in their identity in Christ—what more could I want? And if they pass that on to their kids, and those kids pass it to the next, that’s not just an inheritance… that’s a legacy.
A spiritual inheritance is eternal. It can’t be taxed. It doesn’t crash with the markets. It doesn’t depreciate. And best of all? You don’t have to be wealthy to give it.
That’s changed the way I see my role as a father. My job isn’t just to provide—it’s to model. To disciple. To reflect Christ in the way I work, speak, love, and repent. Because they’re always watching. And what I do teaches louder than what I say.
Faith is the most enduring form of legacy through faith I can give them.
More than stocks or a house or a trust fund, I want to hand them something that will hold when the world shakes. Something that will outlast me.
Something that, when I’m long gone, still points them back to God.
The Quiet Legacy I Might Already Be Leaving
Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough as a dad.
I try to be intentional. I try to bring up God in conversations. I try to live in a way that reflects what I believe—but truthfully? A lot of the time, I feel like I’m missing the mark. I don’t always feel emotionally connected. I don’t always know if my kids are listening. And there are nights I lie in bed wondering if anything I’m doing is getting through.
But then something small happens… and it stops me cold.
On my birthday, my son wrote me a card. And in it, he thanked me for all the conversations we have in the car. That hit me. Because those moments—the ones where I’m just trying to talk through life, faith, wisdom, or even random thoughts while driving—those are the ones I never thought would stick.
I don’t know if he was being funny or sincere, but it felt honest. And it reminded me that maybe something is sinking in.
I see it, too, in the way my kids talk about God. In how they treat people with kindness. In the questions they ask. It’s not always big and bold, but it’s real.
That’s when I realized: legacy through faith isn’t always loud—it’s revealed in the fruit of our consistency.
Not in the speeches, but in the rhythms. The dinnertime prayers. The forgiveness after a harsh word. The fact that I keep showing up.
It’s not perfect. But maybe that’s the point.
Because sometimes, without even knowing it, we’re already leaving behind the kind of legacy that matters most.
To the Man Who Thinks It’s Too Late: You’re Wrong
If you’re in your 40s, 50s, or 60s and thinking, “I’ve wasted too much time”—I get it. I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to look at your past and wonder if you’ve missed your chance to do something that matters.
But let me say this as clearly as I can:
It’s never too late to build a legacy through faith that outlives you.
That idea—that your best years are behind you—is a lie. And it’s one that God has a history of disproving.
Look at Jonah. He ran from God—hard. Not just a little off course, but flat-out rebellion. And who did God choose to send to Nineveh? Jonah. The disobedient guy. The one who messed it up. God didn’t need Jonah to have a flawless record—He needed Jonah to obey.
And Nineveh? They weren’t halfway decent people either. They were violent, wicked, feared by everyone. But when they turned from their ways, God had mercy.
Why does that matter? Because the worse your past looks, the more space there is for God to show His power.
That’s been my story too. I didn’t come from a legacy of faith. I’ve wrestled with doubt. My personality, my logic, my background—it all pointed away from God. But here I am. And if He can reach someone like me, He can reach you too.
Don’t think in terms of what you’ve wasted. Think in terms of what God can redeem.
Because the moment you start walking with Him—whether that’s at 19 or 59—you’re planting seeds. You’re shifting a legacy.
And trust me, God can do more with your next 10 years than you did in your last 40.
It’s Not Your Legacy That Matters—It’s His
There was a time when I used to think a lot about how I’d be remembered. Would people respect me? Would I be seen as successful? Would my name carry weight?
But somewhere along the way, that mindset started to shift. I stopped asking, “What will people remember about me?”
And I started asking, “What did God do through me?”
That question changes everything.
Because the truth is, the most meaningful parts of our legacy might not have our name on them at all. They might be quiet conversations that shaped someone’s faith. Or moments of obedience that no one ever sees. Or prayers prayed in silence that ripple out for generations.
That’s why I keep coming back to something I’ve learned through Ecclesiastes and lived through experience:
Nothing we do on earth separate from God is as important as the smallest thing we do on earth with and for God.
That single truth reframes everything.
It means the size of the task doesn’t matter. The visibility doesn’t matter. The recognition doesn’t matter. What matters is whether God was part of it—whether our heart was aligned with His, whether we did it with love, faith, and reverence.
Our legacy through faith isn’t about our name—it’s about His presence in our life.
When we shift the spotlight off ourselves and onto Him, the pressure lifts. We’re not trying to be impressive—we’re trying to be faithful. And in God’s kingdom, faithfulness always outlasts fame.
So no, I don’t need to be remembered for doing something great. I just want to be remembered for walking closely with the One who is.
Because His legacy is the only one that will never fade.
Start Building Today—Because It’s Not Too Late
Ecclesiastes doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
It reminds us that we’re dust. That our days are short. That everything under the sun is fleeting. But it also reminds us of something just as true—we’re made in the image of God. And that means what we do with our time still matters. Especially when that time is used to walk with Him.
We can’t control how long we live. We can’t rewind the clock or undo the past. But we can choose what we do today.
And legacy through faith is built one obedient step at a time.
You don’t have to wait for some perfect moment. You don’t need a seminary degree, a clean record, or a perfect plan. You just need to move in the direction of God—right now.
Pick up the Bible, even if you don’t know where to start.
Pray with your kids, even if it feels awkward.
Have that conversation you’ve been avoiding.
Say the thing you’ve been meaning to say.
This isn’t about building something flashy. It’s about building something firm. Something eternal. Something that will still matter when your name is long forgotten, but your influence lives on through generations you’ll never meet.
Your legacy through faith doesn’t have to start big. It just has to start.
And it can start today.
Because the God who gave you breath still has purpose for your life. And He’s not asking you to be perfect. He’s just asking you to be present—and obedient.
So take the step. Build the house. Lay the foundation.
Your legacy through faith begins now.
Bonus: Want Help Building a Legacy Through Faith?
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Whether you’re starting over or just starting fresh, this devotional is designed to help you build your legacy through faith—one decision, one day, one step at a time.
You don’t need perfect conditions. You just need to show up.
Let’s get after it.
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