If you’ve known me very long, you’ve heard me talk about the impact my mother-in-law had on my faith. I often joke that when I get to heaven, I’m going to tell them, “Julie sent me.”
My mother-in-law, Julie Steitle, was born and raised in San Antonio, Texas. Her family attended Trinity Baptist Church, and her parents served on the pastoral search committee that brought Buckner Fanning to the pulpit in 1959, where he faithfully preached for forty-two years. Julie often recounted stories of her faith being shaped in those pews.
In 2019, during a particularly heavy season of life, I found myself listening to refurbished sermons by Buckner Fanning while driving back and forth to Lufkin to help care for my dad. That season was made even heavier by the fact that Julie was also recovering from a knee replacement surgery that had gone terribly wrong. The miles were long, but those sermons comforted me. More than once, I wondered if Julie had heard those very same messages as a young girl—and quietly taken them to heart.
In one sermon, Buckner told the story of a young man who went off to college and then returned home to work in his father’s house-building business. For three years, he worked side by side with his dad—watching, listening, learning how his father ran the business. His father was deeply committed to excellence in all his work.
One day, the father challenged the son to build a house on his own. “I’ll provide all the resources,” he said, “and my only ask is that you do your best.”
The son hesitated. “But Dad, I’ve never done it on my own. I’m going to make mistakes.”
“That’s how you learn son,” his father replied. “Just do your best.”
As the son began building, he faced decision after decision. When laying the foundation, he remembered watching his father use at least twenty steel beams—though industry standards required only six, and six was far cheaper. Then came the choice between single-pane and double-pane windows. Again, the savings were tempting. One decision after another, he chose the cheaper option.
In just three short months, the house was finished.
The son walked into his father’s office and announced the job was complete. Surprised by how quickly it had gone, the father asked, “So soon? Did you do your best?”
The son hesitated, unable to make eye contact. “Well… I guess.”
The father looked at him and said, “While it was my resources, son—it’s your house.” Then he tossed him the keys.
The lesson is clear: every shortcut, every compromise, every corner cut would now be his to live with. The reality is that we all must live in the houses we build. Parents --where are you cutting corners?
Psalm 127:1(NIV-84) reminds us, “Unless the LORD builds the house, its builders labor in vain.”
What comforts me most is imagining Julie sitting in the pews of Trinity Baptist Church as a young girl, hearing that very message—and taking it to heart. She and my father-in-law cultivated something truly special in their home.
My first encounter with Blaine’s mom was in the fall of 1989, when we traveled to Oklahoma for an OSU game. Blaine and I had just started dating, so this trip meant meeting his family for the first time. I remember that weekend as if it were yesterday.
Julie and Bill met us at the door. The house was filled with the aroma of a home-cooked meal. Julie wore an apron, and their joy at having us there was unmistakable. Hospitality was one of her greatest gifts—come one, come all. The food was wonderful, but it was the atmosphere that lingered.
That night, when I went to my room, I noticed the sheets had been turned down. There was a chocolate on my pillow and a small bud vase filled with fresh flowers on the bedside table. The next day, I realized they were the same flowers growing in her backyard—clipped just for me. Such a simple gesture, and yet it spoke volumes.
The entire weekend felt magical. Their joy was palpable. I felt at ease, loved, and encouraged. There was something different about the way they loved, though I couldn’t yet name it. I didn’t know much about the Bible then, but I knew this love was unlike anything I had experienced before.
And trust me—I knew love. I was deeply loved by my own family. My parents gave us every opportunity to dream. They valued education, discipline, and accomplishment. We were raised Lutheran, attending Redeemer Lutheran until I finished sixth grade. I had a happy childhood and a safe, loving home.
After Blaine and I married, I received my first study Bible. I began searching the Scriptures. It quickly became clear—Julie may not have quoted Scripture often, but she lived it.
Galatians 5:22–23 tells us that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control,” and Julie bore that fruit beautifully. She was truly, “clothed with strength and dignity; she could laugh at the days to come,” (Proverbs 31:25)—and she did. Joy was her signature. I knew her well for thirty-five years, and I cannot recall a single time I ever saw her in a bad mood.
Julie lived a life of generational blessing. As far back as she could remember, her parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents walked faithfully with the LORD. That kind of legacy doesn’t happen accidentally—it is built, protected, and passed down.
I believe we must give our children three legacies: social, emotional, and spiritual. “A cord of three strands is not easily broken” (Ecclesiastes 4:12). When those fortified strands are braided together, they are difficult to separate.
Blaine’s legacy was marked by all three cords, with the spiritual strand woven most intentionally. I’ve heard the spiritual cord compared to a carefully crafted beaded wedding gown—rich, intentional, and generational. His inheritance of faith ran deep.
We eventually moved down the street from Julie and Bill and lived there for seventeen years. When Julie passed away, the family asked me to deliver her eulogy. I borrowed her Bible from my father-in-law and lingered over the notes in her handwriting. Beside many verses were names or dates—evidence of prayers prayed faithfully, perhaps reminders of answers received. Page after page, I was struck by how her life wasn’t just marked by truth—it was etched by it. The byproducts were unmistakable: joy and peace.
Now, having a voice to encourage young parents, I often find myself studying God’s Word in the morning and thinking of a mom or a situation. I’ll send a quick text with a verse. Occasionally, when someone responds, I reread what I sent—and I’m always surprised to see it say, “I live this verse,” instead of “I love this verse.” Somehow my fingers typed an i instead of an o.
And every time, the LORD uses it to remind me of an important lesson.
Love it—or live it?
God is far more interested in us living the truth than merely admiring it. “But don’t just listen to God’s word. You must do what it say” (James 1:22-NLT). Truth isn’t meant to stop at our ears—it’s meant to move our feet.
That is the spiritual legacy Julie left behind—a faith that didn’t demand attention or applause, just daily obedience. Lived out in aprons and open doors, turned-down sheets, quiet joy, and unwavering faithfulness.
Because the legacy that lasts longest isn’t what our children hear us say about God—it’s what they watch us build.
Millye Moment: More Than the Moment
With all of our children, we chose baby dedications. This past Sunday, that legacy continued—our daughter Sallye and her husband Ethan dedicated their six-month-old daughter, Merritt Ann Clark, and our son Blaine and his wife Allison dedicated their one-month-old son, George Keller Hale.
There is something sacred about standing at the front of a church, holding a tiny life, making promises that feel both beautiful and overwhelming. It is easy to believe this is the defining moment.
But Deuteronomy 6 gently—and firmly—tells us otherwise.
“These words… shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children.”
God doesn’t begin with a ceremony. He begins with a heart—the heart of the parent. Before we teach diligently, we must love the Lord our God with all our heart, our soul, and our strength. Parenting always flows downstream from our personal devotion.
Dedication may mark a family’s public commitment to rear a child in the Lord, but it does not replace the daily work God commands in Deuteronomy 6—the ordinary, unseen faithfulness of parents who talk about God at the table, along the road, in the morning rush, and in bedtime prayers.
God never intended faith to be sustained by a single holy moment.
He designed it to be cultivated through holy habits.
So today, be encouraged. If you’ve baptized or dedicated your child, that moment mattered. But the greater calling is still before you—and still within reach.
Prayer:
Lord, shape my heart before I shape my child’s. Help me to love You deeply and live my faith consistently, so that my children don’t just hear about You—but see You lived out every day in me. Amen!
Meaningful Questions
1. If someone examined the foundation of your home, what would they
say it’s built on –secular accomplishments ……or Christ?
2. Where are you tempted to cut corners and, “use six beams instead of twenty,” in
your parenting?
3. If your children described the emotional climate of your home, what would they say?
4. If God handed you keys today and said, “these are to the house that you’ve been
Building,” would you feel confident in saying that you have been doing your best?