There are some people whose lives leave footprints on our hearts long after they are gone. They may never have stood behind a pulpit or written a book, yet their lives preached a sermon every day simply by the way they loved others. My father-in-law, Carl Annis, (I called him Dad) was one of those people.
Carl was a very quiet man. He never sought attention, never needed recognition, and never seemed interested in being noticed. Yet he was always willing to give of himself to others. His faith wasn’t something he felt the need to announce; he simply lived it through the way he served. As his daughter in law, I had the privilege of watching that quiet faithfulness unfold over the years, not through grand gestures, but through countless ordinary acts of kindness.
He was a deacon in our church, but his ministry extended far beyond the walls of the church building. One of the ministries closest to his heart was our bread ministry. Every day, he would visit local grocery stores and pick up their day-old bread. That bread was then distributed to people connected with our church’s English as a Second Language ministry. Many had come to America from other countries and were trying to build new lives while surviving on very limited resources. Some depended on housing assistance just to make ends meet.
To some people, a bag of day-old bread might not seem like much. But when you don’t have much, something as simple as bread can mean everything. And when that bread is placed in your hands by someone who genuinely cares about you, it becomes more than food. It becomes a tangible reminder that someone sees you and cares about what happens to you.
Carl understood that love doesn’t always need a microphone or a spotlight. Sometimes it simply needs willing hands.
I remember another way Carl quietly expressed that love. Our church needed an elevator so that elderly people with disabilities could enter the church more easily, and Carl helped build it. It was a huge project and one that was physically demanding for seventy to eighty year old deacons, but they worked hard and managed to get it done. Dad wasn’t standing in front of the congregation receiving applause for his contribution. He was simply doing what needed to be done.
Looking back, I see something beautiful in that. Carl helped build a way for people who might otherwise have struggled to enter God’s house. In his quiet way, he was removing a barrier and making room for others.
That was Carl. He didn’t draw attention to himself. He made room for other people.
Then came the months when cancer slowly began to take Carl’s strength. He was diagnosed with parotid gland cancer, and we watched this quiet man who had spent so much of his life helping others gradually become less able to care for himself. It was difficult to watch. Carl had always been the one who showed up, the one who carried the bread, the one who helped build what others needed, the one who quietly stepped in when there was work to be done. Now the roles were changing. The man who had spent his life giving care was becoming the one who needed to be cared for.
There was something deeply humbling about that season for our family. We found ourselves doing for Carl the very things he had spent so many years doing for others. We helped him, sat with him, watched over him, and tried to bring comfort when there was little we could do to change what was happening. His strength was fading, but his worth had never diminished. He was still Carl, the gentle man I had come to know and love as my father-in-law, a man who had spent his life quietly loving others.
As the months passed, there came a time when Carl was often unaware of what was happening around him. He was growing weaker, and our time together had become quieter. There was very little I could do to make things better, but I wanted to give him something that had brought him comfort throughout his life. As I sat beside my father-in-law, I felt God prompting my heart to do something very simple. I picked up the Bible and began reading his favorite passage: 1 Corinthians 13.
I read slowly, hoping somehow the familiar words would reach a place that illness could not touch. As I read those words about patience, kindness, perseverance, and enduring love, I realized I wasn’t simply reading Scripture to Carl. In many ways, I was reading the story of his life back to him.
“Love is patient and kind… It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 1 Corinthians 13:4, 7
Those words described the man beside me. And in that quiet room, I understood something I had perhaps never fully understood before: the greatest legacy we leave may not be found in what we accomplish, but in the love we pour into the lives of others while we are here.
Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” John 13:35
He didn’t say the world would recognize His followers because they could win every argument, quote the most Scripture, or explain every theological question. He said they would know us by our love.
There were people in that ESL ministry who may not have understood everything Carl said. They may have struggled with the English language. But they understood kindness. They understood generosity. They understood someone showing up for them.
Love has a language all its own.
Jesus also said, “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in.” Matthew 25:35
Carl may have thought he was simply picking up bread from the grocery store or helping with a construction project at church. But heaven may have seen something much greater. He was meeting needs, removing barriers, welcoming others, and quietly demonstrating the character of Christ.
We live in a world filled with people carrying burdens we know nothing about. Someone beside us may be lonely. Someone we encounter at the grocery store may be struggling financially. Someone at church may be hurting behind a smile. Someone who speaks another language may simply be longing to know that they belong.
We don’t always need a grand opportunity to make a difference. Sometimes God simply asks us to notice the person in front of us and respond.
Carl’s life reminds me that we don’t have to change the entire world to make a difference in someone’s world. We simply need to be willing to let God use us in the ordinary moments He places before us.
And perhaps someday, when our own lives are nearing their end, the greatest testimony people remember won’t be what we owned, what position we held, or how much we accomplished. Perhaps they will remember how we made them feel. Did they feel loved? Did they feel seen? Did they feel welcomed? Did they see Jesus in us?
Paul concluded his beautiful teaching on love with these words: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13
As I sat beside Carl and finished reading those words, I realized something profound. His body was failing, but the love he had given throughout his life was not ending. It had already been planted in the hearts of others.
Every loaf of bread he carried, every person he served, every barrier he helped remove, and every quiet act of kindness had been a seed. We may never know how many lives were touched by those seeds, but God knows.
So today, ask yourself this question: Who do I know that needs God’s love to reach them through me today? Is there someone God's put in your path for a special reason?
Perhaps it is someone who needs a loaf of bread. Perhaps it is someone who needs forgiveness or encouragement. Perhaps it is someone who simply needs us to sit beside them during one of the hardest moments of their life. Whatever the opportunity, may we never underestimate what God can do with one willing heart.
Because sometimes love quietly shows up, carries a loaf of bread, builds a doorway for someone who needs help getting through it, holds someone’s hand when they need comfort, and points them toward Jesus without saying much at all.
Heavenly Father, thank You for Dad and for the years You allowed us to have him in our lives. Thank You for his quiet spirit, his gentle heart, and the way he so freely gave of himself without ever seeking recognition. Thank You for every loaf of bread he carried, every person he helped, every barrier he helped remove, and every life he touched simply by being willing to serve.
Lord, I am especially grateful for those quiet moments beside him when there was little left to say and even less that I could do. Thank You for reminding me that sometimes love is simply being present. Thank You for allowing me to read his favorite words from Your Word and to realize, as I read them, that Dad's life had already been a beautiful reflection of the love described in 1 Corinthians 13.
Help me carry that lesson with me. When I am tempted to think that my small acts of kindness don’t matter, remind me of Dad and a simple loaf of bread. When I wonder whether anyone notices the things I do quietly, remind me that You see every act of love. And when I encounter someone who is hungry, lonely, struggling, or simply needs someone to care, give me the willingness to stop, notice, and serve.
May Dad's life continue to speak, not because he sought to be heard, but because he quietly lived what he believed. Let his memory remind us that a life poured out in love is never wasted. The kindness we give today may become a seed that continues growing long after we are gone.
Father, help me to love as Dad did, not for recognition, not for praise, and not because anyone is watching, but because Your love lives within me. Let my hands be willing, my heart be tender, and my eyes open to the needs around me.
And when my own journey is finished, may I leave behind the same kind of legacy: not a life that drew attention to itself, but a life that quietly pointed others toward You.
“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
In the precious name of Jesus,
Amen.
Everyday Devotionals by Bonnie Annis
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