Experiencing What They Dreamed

Today, I stood in someone’s love letter.

More than thirty years of prayer made physical in brick and beam.
More than three decades of faithful giving turned into walls and windows.

A previous generation’s vision finally taking shape in space and time. As I stood in Christ Church’s new fellowship hall, the weight of inherited grace nearly brought me to tears. These walls were dreamed before I arrived. These foundations and space prayed into being by people who’ve already gone home to glory. I’m experiencing what they have dreamed.

Trees tell this story about care:
They mark where someone loved beyond their lifetime.
They stand as witnesses to hope extended forward.
They prove someone cared about people they’d never meet.

Churches echo this truth even clearer:
Every brick laid in love. 
Every dollar given in faith. 
Every prayer offered in hope. 
Every plan made in trust. 
That strangers would find welcome here, 
That future generations would meet God here, 
That people unknown and unborn would call this home.

Some of us stand in thin forests.
I do.
Inheriting more absence than abundance.
More neglect than nurture.
But here’s the transforming truth:
We don’t have to repeat what we received.
We can plant what we wished we’d inherited.
I didn’t plant these trees.
I didn’t lay these foundations.

I didn’t write the first chapters of this story.
Yet here I stand, overwhelmed by inherited blessing,
Surrounded by the fruit of faithful love
That looked past its own horizon into mine.

Want to know what real love looks like?
Watch the one who-
Plants oaks they’ll never sit under, 
Builds sanctuaries they’ll never worship in…
All for people they’ll never meet.

Standing in this new hall, I can’t help but ask:
What am I building that will outlast me?
What am I planting that others will inherit?
What love letters am I writing to the future?

Your great-grandchildren will inherit your care or your negligence.
They’ll walk in your shade or your shadows.
They’ll taste your fruit or your famine.
They’ll worship in spaces you sacrificed to build
Or wonder why you thought only of yourself.

And perhaps they’ll say:
“Someone loved us before they knew us.”
“Someone cared enough to plant this tree.”
“Someone looked past their own life into ours.”
“Someone built this place for us to meet God.”
We’re all living in someone’s answer to the question:
“Do I care about those who come after?”
Today, in a fellowship hall thirty years in the making,
I found my answer standing in stone and wood.

Plant like you love them.
Build like you love them.
Pray like you love them.
Give like you love them.

And somewhere, thirty years from now,
Someone you’ll never meet
Will stand in your love letter to the future and be overwhelmed by grace.

This originally appeared at https://x.com/chocolate_knox/status/1863359199729918370?s=46