From Law to Legacy

Many years ago, as a nervous 25-year-old law school graduate, I stood in the Supreme Court of the State of Utah with a group of newly minted attorneys. We raised our right hands, recited the oath, and were welcomed into the profession. Later that day, we repeated the ceremony in federal court. I left those courtrooms proud, grateful, and eager to begin a career in the law. 

For more than four decades, I practiced in a wide range of legal disciplines—civil and criminal litigation, bankruptcy, business formation, estate planning, and others. I enjoyed the intellectual rigor of the law: the strategy, the research, the writing, and the challenge of advocacy. The work was demanding and, at times, exhilarating. 

As the years went on, I noticed something. 

The moments that stayed with me weren’t the arguments won or the cases closed. They were the conversations where someone felt heard, reassured, or better prepared for what lay ahead. I discovered that what I valued most was helping people understand their options and move forward with confidence. 

That realization sharpened during the pandemic. When the world slowed down in 2020, I had space to reflect on my career and the kind of work that felt most meaningful. Much of my legal practice had involved helping people manage difficult situations; making the best of outcomes they hadn’t chosen. While that work mattered, I found myself wanting to help people in a different way: earlier, more intentionally, and with a longer view. 

In 2021, a friend who served as Senior Director of Planned Giving at Utah State University called to tell me about an opening in their department. He encouraged me to apply. After several rounds of interviews, I accepted the position and began a new chapter, one that combined my legal background with a deeper focus on values, purpose, and legacy. 

Planned giving was different from anything I had done before. These were not conversations about solving immediate problems. They were conversations about meaning. About how people wanted to be remembered. About the values that had shaped their lives, and how those values might continue to shape the world after they were gone. 

One early experience crystallized this for me. I met with a couple who loved the university’s public radio station. For years, they had given modest monthly gifts, never more than $50 at a time. They didn’t think of themselves as major donors. But when we looked at the full picture, their steady generosity totaled more than $27,000. 

Over the next several years, our conversations deepened. We talked about what the station meant to them, what role it played in their community, and what they hoped it would continue to be for others. Eventually, they chose to include the station in their estate plans at a level that would shape its future for decades. 

That experience perfectly illustrates that planned giving is not about transactions. It’s about helping people see the cumulative power of their values and giving those values a lasting voice. 

As my work in planned giving continued, I also became aware of a gap. Many nonprofit organizations, particularly smaller colleges and universities, recognize the importance of planned giving but lack the time, staff, or expertise to build or sustain a meaningful program. Others focus almost entirely on immediate needs, without realizing how transformative long-term gifts can be to institutional stability and mission. 

Legacy Narrative was created to address that gap. 

Legacy Narrative exists to help organizations and the people who support them think beyond the immediate moment. We help institutions articulate their mission in language that resonates with donors who are thinking about legacy. We help advancement teams integrate planned giving into their work in a way that feels natural, authentic, and aligned with donor values. We help make legacies.