I learned a long time ago that material things bring temporary happiness.
Don't get me wrong. I love a good gift as much as the next person. A new pair of shoes, a pretty handbag, or the latest gadget can bring me joy. But eventually, the excitement wears off.
Memories, though? Those tend to stick around.
As a mom, I've been fortunate. Our son, Jude, has never been one to want a lot of things. We were blessed to provide what he needed growing up, along with plenty of those fun extras that make childhood special.
We made family vacations a priority. For years, that meant beaches, cruises, or just about anywhere with an ocean. As Jude got older, we began adding in-between trips around our beautiful home state of West Virginia, too.
But around the end of middle school, our birthday conversations became painfully predictable.
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"I don't know."
Every. Single. Year.
Eventually, I understood his response. He didn't really need anything, and there wasn't much he wanted.
So instead of asking what we could buy him, we started asking a different question.
Where could we take him?
And just like that, a family tradition was born.
Trading Presents for Memories
Instead of birthday gifts, we started giving Jude experiences. Places he'd always wanted to see, adventures we'd share, and memories that would hopefully last longer than anything wrapped in birthday paper.
Over the past few years, we've explored 12 National Parks including the Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier, and all the classic ones. We've traveled through California, drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, stood inside giant sequoias and followed part of Lewis and Clark's journey along the Missouri River.
This coming May, when Jude graduates from high school, we're heading to Italy and Greece for one last big adventure before college.
Ancient ruins, centuries of history, and some of the most beautiful places in the world.
And probably a lot of coffee and pasta.
These trips have become some of our favorite family memories. But it wasn't until I thought about a friend's childhood story that I began to see them as something more.
The Station Wagon That Left a Legacy
We have a friend in his mid-80s who often tells us about a cross-country trip his family took when he was just eight years old.
His parents packed him and his siblings into the back of a station wagon and hit the road.
No iPads. No streaming movies. No GPS. Just a family, a station wagon, and the open road.
More than 70 years later, he remembers that trip like it was yesterday.
He remembers the places, the scenery, and the time spent with his family. Some of his most vivid childhood memories came from that one adventure.
My husband and I love hearing his stories, especially when he describes places we've recently visited ourselves. It's remarkable how some of those landscapes look almost exactly as they did when he saw them decades ago.
And here's what strikes me.
His parents probably thought they were simply taking their kids on vacation. They had no idea they were creating memories their son would still be sharing 70 years later.
That's legacy.
Not something they bought. Not something they left in a will. Just time together that became a story worth telling for a lifetime.
The Legacy Behind the Tradition
For our family, travel has also become a way to experience God's creation firsthand.
There's something humbling about standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon or beneath the towering mountains in Glacier National Park. You can't help but marvel at the world God created.
Psalm 19:1 rings in my mind every time we travel, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork."
And what a classroom He's given us.
Whether we're exploring national parks, learning about history, or preparing to walk among ancient Greek and Roman ruins, I pray Jude takes away more than photographs and souvenirs. I hope he develops a lifelong curiosity about the world, an appreciation for history, and a deeper understanding of the Creator behind it all.
Of course, I realize not everyone can pack up and travel across the country. There was a time when we couldn't either. 
When Jude was younger, we explored the world through books, history lessons and places closer to home. Those experiences were just as important because they planted the seeds for the curiosity we now get to explore together.
Legacy isn't measured in miles traveled, money spent, or destinations checked off a list. It's measured in what we pass along.
For some families, it’s a recipe handed down through generations. For others, it's a family farm, a holiday tradition, a favorite fishing spot, or stories told around the dinner table.
For us, travel has become one way of passing along what matters.
What I Hope He Carries With Him
I don't know what Jude will remember about these trips 50 or 60 years from now. I hope he’ll be like my friend who still tells of the trips his family took.
Maybe it'll be the mountains of Wyoming, the winding roads of California, or the wildlife in Yellowstone that we probably could have petted if we wanted to.
Or maybe it'll be those long car rides spent talking about life, theology and making fun of each other. Eating gas station food for breakfast, lunch and dinner or remembering his Dad doesn’t listen to the GPS.
More than anything, I hope he remembers that we were there together.
And someday, if he has a family of his own, I hope he'll share those stories and create traditions of his own.
Because the destination was never really the point.
The time together was.
And while these memories are part of the legacy my husband and I hope to leave our son, they're not the most important part.
The greatest legacy we can give him is our faith.
More than anything, we want Jude to know and love the God who created this incredible world we've been blessed to explore. We want him to recognize God's goodness, appreciate His creation, and carry a heart of gratitude wherever life takes him.
The places we've visited are beautiful. The memories we've made are priceless.
But the faith we hope to pass on is eternal.
The birthday presents would have been forgotten. But maybe, just maybe, Jude will still be telling stories about our adventures when he's 80.
And if those stories remind him of the people who loved him, the lessons he learned, and the God who made it all possible, then we've left him something far more valuable than anything we could have wrapped in a box.
That's the kind of legacy I hope lasts.
