Some of the most meaningful moments in my life happened around the family dinner table.

We didn’t always have gourmet meals or a picture-perfect setup, but we had a rhythm—and an expectation that we would all come to the table. My mom and dad made dinner non-negotiable. No matter how busy the day, how long the to-do list or how loud the house, dinner was a time to slow down and show up. 

Let me just say that the four Evans kids weren’t always in the best moods for our family meals. One kid might be sulking because they didn’t get their way, another trying hard to dominate the conversation, and one kid (possibly me) might have quietly rebelled against the menu by pushing peas around on the plate. But somehow, that table held space for all of it. 

And this is why we now hold space for this sacred time in our memories still today.

I didn’t fully understand it as a child, but now I see it clearly. My parents were building a legacy, one meal at a time.

Legacy isn’t always loud or lofty. Sometimes it’s just simple and consistent. It’s passing the salt and pepper while taking turns asking real questions. It’s calling out attitudes without crushing spirits. It’s laughing at a silly joke. It’s allowing silence until someone has the desire or courage to speak. It’s setting a table and being present, even when your mind is tired or your patience is thin.

Deuteronomy 6:6–7 says, “These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home…” (NIV).  My parents did that. Not by a formal time of devotion every night (while the dinner table is often when we had devotions), but by letting conversations about God flow into everyday talk—after-school stories, sports practice highs and lows, even squabbles about chores.

Faith wasn’t forced. It was just folded in.

I think about Luke 24, when Jesus broke bread with the disciples after His resurrection. “He took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened…” (Luke 24:30–31, NIV). It was at the table that the light came on. Sometimes the most powerful encounters aren’t on mountaintops—they’re at mealtime.

Now that I’m raising my own children, I see how those habits shaped me. I care just as much about the conversations as I do the cooking. I want the table to be a place where my people are known, challenged, and loved. And I’m learning that legacy often hides in the ordinary.

If you want to be a woman who creates legacy in the places and spaces your people are in, don’t make things complicated. Keep it simple. And if you need a place to start, start with your next meal at the table. 😀 

Lord, help me to build with intention. Whether the table is full or quiet, help me remember that every moment matters. Let my table reflect Your love and truth—one meal, one story, one connection at a time. Amen.