Leaving a Legacy That Matters

When I think about why I do what I do, I realize it’s never just about the present moment. It’s never simply about making money, chasing recognition, or fitting into the world’s definition of success. For me, it’s always been bigger than that. It’s about legacy.

I see people every day asking questions like, “Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you charging more for it? Why invest your time here?” And yes, we all need money to navigate life, to survive, to provide for our families. But for me personally, while my business brings in money, it’s not the biggest measure of my success. The real success is what I leave behind.

Legacy is about planting seeds that grow beyond your lifetime. It’s about creating something that speaks for you long after you’re gone. It’s about making sure that when your children or your grandchildren talk about you, they can say with pride: “My mom was an author. My mom was a business owner. My mom did what she loved. She was passionate. She created. She poured her heart into what mattered.”

This is also why I pour myself into my blog. It’s where I lay my heart bare, where I share the real and the raw of my journey. Some people read it and respond, some don’t — but that’s okay. I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t always take a comment or a like to make an impact. Sometimes the words reach a heart silently, and that is enough. That is faith in action.

I trust God for a better life — not just for me, but for my husband, as we journey into our 50s. We want a life that’s softer, fuller, and abundant in peace. A life where we can enjoy the fruits of what we’ve sown, where our faith continues to guide us, and where we can build a home and family life that reflects God’s goodness. And I trust Him for my children too, that they will see the example of a mother who stayed faithful, who persevered, and who trusted God even when the journey was hard. I want them to be inspired, to see that sticking it out, even when life is messy, is worth it.

I think about my grandchildren and my children. I think about the stories they will tell one day. And I want them to know that I was here, that I was intentional, that I chose passion over convenience, love over fear, faith over doubt. That I lived a life that inspired them to create, to trust God, to believe in their own gifts.

Yes, I am grateful for today. I am thankful that I was born. I am grateful for every opportunity, every struggle, and every triumph. But the most important question I ask myself is this: When I leave this earth, what will I leave behind? What mark will I make that outlives me? What story will people tell about Leslene?

Legacy is bigger than recognition. It’s bigger than money. It’s bigger than comfort or convenience. Legacy is about intentionally using the gifts God gave you — your mind, your hands, your heart — to create something that carries His glory and inspires the generations that come after you.

And that is exactly what I aim to do.

With faith in God, with gratitude for each moment, and with a heart wide open, I am leaving a legacy that matters.

How Do We Navigate Hurt When We Live Under Grace?

In the Old Testament, people cried out to God in a world where law, justice, and consequence were the main ways God revealed His character. When enemies rose up against them, they prayed for God to act — sometimes in fierce ways. And God did, because He was establishing holiness, order, covenant identity, and the seriousness of sin.

There was no “buffer” of a Savior yet. No intercessor. No Mediator.

God’s judgment came directly, and swiftly.

Then Jesus stepped in.

With Him came grace, mercy, forgiveness, and a new way of responding to human hurt.

We are no longer under the law that demanded immediate justice —

we are under a Savior who absorbed judgment Himself.

Because of Jesus:

We don’t pray curses over people.

We don’t ask God to destroy our enemies.

We don’t declare harm over someone who harmed us.

Instead, Jesus teaches us something far stronger — not weaker:

“Bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” (Luke 6:28)

Not because they deserve kindness.

But because we carry the Spirit of the One who redeemed us.

The Old Testament teaches us that God sees injustice.

The New Testament teaches us that God transforms it.

So how do we navigate hurt now?

1. We still bring everything to God — but we surrender the outcome.

You can pray: “Lord, You see this. You know the truth. Handle it in Your way.”

That prayer is powerful. It places justice in the hands of a perfect Judge.

2. We fight spiritually, not carnally.

We stand firm. We set boundaries.

We refuse to be mistreated or trampled on.

But we don’t fight out of revenge — we fight out of identity.

3. Grace doesn’t make us passive — it makes us purified.

Grace doesn’t mean:

ignoring wrong

tolerating abuse

pretending everything is okay

Grace means you don’t let bitterness, anger, or curses sit in your heart.

You handle conflict without becoming the thing that wounded you.

4. We trust that God still deals with people — but He does it His way.

God didn’t stop being just — He simply works through the cross now.

Some people will be corrected.

Some will be exposed.

Some will change.

Some will lose battles they thought they were winning.

And some consequences will come quietly, not dramatically, because God’s desire is always restoration over destruction.

5. We choose Christ’s character, even when hurt.

This is the hardest part — but also the most freeing.

When you respond with grace, you step into spiritual maturity and authority.

In the Old Testament, the prayer was: “God, deal with them.”

In the New Testament, the prayer is: “God, deal with me — and deal with them Your way.”

That shift is where your strength grows, where your heart stays soft, and where God moves with power.

A New Table

The season of begging for space is over.

The season of trying to prove your worth is over.

The season of shrinking to keep familiar company is over.

Stop fighting for tables that limit you

and no longer have a space for you.

Start building your own.

A table where God sits at the head.

A table where capacity matches capacity.

A table where your anointing is not too much.

A table where your voice is not dismissed.

A table where your growth is not intimidating.

A table where your purpose is not misunderstood.

God is not just elevating you —

He is separating you.

Not as punishment,

but as preparation.

Stay Focused. Stay Faithful. Stay Expectant.

This month, I refuse to be distracted.

I refuse to be drained.

I refuse to be delayed by people or places that can no longer serve where God is taking me.

I am not stagnant.

I am not behind.

I am not forgotten.

I am being aligned.

I am being prepared.

I am being positioned.

And in this 12th month —

where authority settles,

where promises unfold,

where prayers ripen —

God is making manifest His glory in my life.

Not tomorrow.

Not next year.

Now.

Right here, in December 2025 —

I am receiving what is rightfully mine.

Stop Pouring Into Empty Cups

 

December Reflection: 

This month feels different.
Not because everything suddenly became easier,
but because clarity finally set in.

All year I’ve watched people move forward.
Not because they were better than me,
not because they had more resources or more support,
but because they made one decision that I was too afraid to make:

They stopped pouring into empty cups.

And here I was — stagnant, tired, drained —
still trying to carry people emotionally, spiritually, mentally,
people who had no intention of growing, healing, or moving.
People who were comfortable where they were,
while I was struggling to hold myself together
and hold them together too.

But now… I see it clearly.
I cannot take everyone where God is taking me.
Not because I am better,
but because the capacity God has given me
is not something everyone can contain.

Some people simply cannot walk this journey.
Not because they’re bad,
but because this path was not assigned to them.

And this year made me realize something deeper:
I stagnated because I kept trying to take people with me
who were never meant to go.
I slowed down because I kept watering cups
that were cracked, empty, unchanging.
I drained myself trying to carry people
who never once asked God to prepare them for the journey.

But this month — the 12th month —
something in my spirit shifted.

Twelve symbolizes governance, authority, divine order.
And I finally understand what that means for me:

This is the month where I take authority
over my boundaries,
over my healing,
over my destiny,
over my time,
over my peace.

This is the month where I say:
“God, align me with what is mine.”

Because everything I’ve been praying for
in the past 11 months
is now coming into order.
Everything that felt delayed
is now being rearranged.
Everything that felt broken
is now being rebuilt.

God is making manifest what He whispered to my heart.
Not because of luck.
Not because of people.
Not because of chance.
But because it is my time.

And as I step into what is rightfully mine,
I accept that not everyone can go with me.
Not everyone can understand where I’m heading.
Not everyone can hold the weight of what God placed in my spirit.
Not everyone can walk a journey
they never had the courage to begin.

So today, I choose to:

✔ Stop pouring into empty cups.
✔ Stop dragging people who were never assigned to my path.
✔ Stop shrinking myself to make others comfortable.
✔ Stop apologizing for evolving.
✔ Stop delaying my own growth out of loyalty to stagnation.

Because where God is taking me now
requires focus, faith, and forward motion.

This has been a rough year.
A stretching year.
A breaking year.
A revealing year.

But it is ending with governance.
With authority.
With divine alignment.
With manifestation.

And as I step into this final stretch of 2025,
I declare over myself:

“God is making manifest His glory through me.
And I will receive everything that is rightfully mine.”

I Am Ending This Year Strong 2025

This year—2025—taught me a lesson I never expected to learn so painfully, yet so powerfully. A lesson I didn’t ask for… but one God knew I needed in order to grow, stand firm, and rise into who He called me to be.

I didn’t realise how much I struggled with the fear of man until life, work, and certain environments exposed it. Not gently. Not quietly. But in a way that shook me, stretched me, and forced me to confront it face to face.

There were days at work where I felt small.

Where I felt silenced.

Where I felt like people could sense my hesitation, my softness, my internal trembling.

And the sad truth?

Some people take pleasure in that.

Some people see your uncertainty and use it to elevate themselves.

Some people see your quiet heart and mistake it for weakness.

Some take your humility and interpret it as fear.

And fear, especially fear of man, becomes a snare.

It traps you.

It silences you.

It makes you shrink even when God told you to stand.

It makes you tolerate things you should have confronted.

It makes you hand over authority to people who never should have had that kind of power over your emotions or your peace.

But what I didn’t see at first was this:

It wasn’t the people.

It was the enemy.

Working through insecurities.

Working through manipulative spirits.

Working through misunderstandings, intimidation, and chaos.

Working through the moments where I questioned myself, my voice, and even my worth.

And I learned—sometimes painfully—that when I showed them my fear, when I let them see my uncertainty, they walked over me without hesitation. Not because they were strong… but because I didn’t yet understand my own strength.

But God.

Oh, but God.

He has a way of using uncomfortable experiences to build spiritual muscle.

He has a way of showing you who people truly are…

while also showing you who YOU truly are in Him.

And slowly, day by day, God started revealing the truth:

People do not have power over me.

God does.

And God is my anchor.

When I felt cornered — God spoke peace.

When I felt intimidated — God whispered courage.

When I felt alone — God covered me.

When I feared failing — God reminded me that no human being holds my destiny or my breakthrough in their hands.

Every moment of pressure this year became a classroom.

Every challenge became a breaking of old patterns.

Every attack became a revelation.

Every insult, every dismissal, every undermining comment became evidence of spiritual warfare — not personal weakness.

And now, standing here in December 2025, I can finally say:

I am ending this year stronger than I started it.

Not because life became easier.

Not because people changed.

But because I changed.

Because God stretched me.

Because I learned how to stand.

Because I learned that courage is not loud — it is anchored.

And my anchor is Christ.

The fear of man nearly trapped me.

It nearly silenced me.

It nearly convinced me that I wasn’t capable, worthy, or strong enough.

But God stepped in and reminded me:

"No person can walk over someone I have covered.

No voice can silence someone I have chosen.

No attack can stop someone I have anointed."

People will always have opinions.

People will always criticize.

People will assume authority that doesn’t belong to them.

People will take pleasure in thinking they have control over you.

But they don’t.

They never did.

And now — I know it too.

This December, I release the fear of man.

I release the weight of other people’s opinions.

I release the intimidation, the shrinking, the self-doubt.

And I take back my voice.

I take back my confidence.

I take back my authority.

I take back my power in Christ.

Because those who trust in the Lord will be safe.

Safe from manipulation.

Safe from fear.

Safe from intimidation.

Safe from the traps the enemy sets through people.

This isn’t just the end of a year.

It is the end of a cycle.

And the beginning of a stronger me.

I am ending this year anchored.

I am ending this year courageous.

I am ending this year unshaken.

And I am ending this year free.

December 2025 Reflection 🪞

Grace… a word we speak so easily, yet only truly understand when life places us in moments where nothing else could have carried us through. As I look back over this year — over the journey, the stretching, the confusion, the breakthroughs, the disappointments that later proved to be divine protection — one truth echoes louder than anything else: Grace was there.

Grace was there when I didn’t think I needed it.

You know those seasons when you feel strong, capable, and steady? When life seems to be flowing, and you believe you can carry yourself? Even then, grace was quietly holding the parts of your story you didn’t even know were fragile. Protecting you from what was forming behind the scenes, guiding you away from what wasn’t meant for you, covering you in ways you couldn’t yet see. That was grace — subtle, gentle, patient.

Grace was there when I put myself in situations I had no business being in.

Let’s be honest — some storms we stepped into willingly. Not because we didn’t know better, but because we were tired, lonely, hopeful, or trying to fill an empty place with the wrong thing. And yet, even in that, grace didn’t leave. It didn’t shame us. It didn’t abandon us. It waited. It covered. It protected us from consequences that could’ve destroyed us. It whispered, “I’ll help you get out of what you got yourself into.”

That’s grace.

Grace was there when I didn’t know how I would get to work.

When transport failed, when the money didn’t make sense, when the budget screamed “impossible” — grace stepped in. Maybe through a friend. Maybe through a miracle. Maybe through strength you didn’t know you had. But somehow… you got there. Somehow… you made it through another day. That wasn’t luck. That wasn’t coincidence. That was grace making a way through impossibility.

Grace was there when I didn’t even have one slice of bread.

We don’t talk enough about those quiet moments — those deep private struggles no one knows about. The days where hunger is both physical and emotional. The days where you question your worth, your future, your strength. Yet even in those moments, grace fed you… not just food, but hope.

Grace kept your faith alive. Grace promised, “This is not your permanent place.”

And it wasn’t.

Grace was there when they said my dreams would fail.

People will always have opinions. They will tell you to be realistic. They will measure your dreams by their own fear. They will project their limitations onto you and expect you to receive them as truth.

But grace reminded me not to share what God had whispered into my spirit.

Not everything meant for you is meant to be spoken aloud. Some dreams grow best in silence. Some visions are safest when guarded. Grace taught me to nurture what God planted in my heart — quietly, privately, faithfully — until the fruit became undeniable.

Grace told me to run with what God said, not with what people thought.

And now… as I step into December 2025, something in me has shifted. Something in me has awakened and settled at the same time. I realize now more than ever:

This journey has nothing to do with luck.

Nothing to do with connections.

Nothing to do with approval.

Nothing to do with who supports you and who doesn’t.

This has everything to do with God — and His grace.

Grace prepared the road long before I walked it.

Grace softened the blows I didn’t see coming.

Grace redirected me every time I wandered.

Grace carried me when I could not carry myself.

Grace held my business together when I had no strength left.

Grace fueled my creativity, my ideas, my resilience.

Grace kept me standing when everything around me looked like it wanted to knock me down.

Grace was there in every disappointment, every closed door, every yes, every breakthrough, every unexpected blessing. Through the tears. Through the doubts. Through the prayers whispered on tired nights. Through the frustrations and the small victories that reminded me why I started.

Grace was there when I thought all I had left was faith the size of a mustard seed. And guess what? That was enough. Grace made sure it was enough.

Now, looking back, I see that every step — even the ones that didn’t make sense — was guided by grace. Every delay was a divine setup. Every hardship shaped character. Every moment of lack taught gratitude. Every moment of abundance taught stewardship. And every season taught me that God’s grace does not run out. It meets you over and over again, right where you are.

I walk into the end of this year not tired, not defeated, not unsure — but deeply aware that I am only where I am because grace never left me.

As I step into what’s next, I carry this truth with me: Grace didn’t just bring me through — grace is taking me further.

And it will do the same for you.

📖 Scripture Reminder

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”

— 2 Corinthians 12:9