When Your Legacy Looks Different Than You Imagined

There was a time I believed that if I stayed faithful, God would write a beautiful, public story through my life.

I imagined stages. Books. Fruit that others could see.

And then I fell.

Not in a small way—but in a way that wrecked trust, broke hearts, and shattered illusions.

I still grieve what my sin cost—not just in my own life, but in the lives of others.

There are days I wonder what might’ve been if I had chosen differently.

What kind of legacy I could’ve had.

But even in the middle of that sorrow, I’ve begun to see something I never expected:

God didn’t erase my purpose.

He met me in the wreckage.

And He’s still writing a story—one I wouldn’t have chosen, but one I now hold with reverent hands.

No, I’m not the girl with the polished crown anymore.

I’m the one with battle scars and a limp—who knows what it feels like to need mercy more than applause.

I don’t share from a place of strength.

I share from the grace I didn’t deserve but now cling to with everything in me.

This isn’t the legacy I dreamed of.

But if it brings hope to someone who thinks they’re too far gone—

and glory to the God who still calls the broken—

then maybe… this is the legacy that matters most.