The story
It Was Never Only for Me.
A late night in San Diego, the rooms I grew up in, and the pastor nobody talks about. Here is where the circle comes from, in my own words.
The Night It Became Undeniable.
I remember the night differently now than I did when it happened. At the time it was a restless evening, the kind where sleep refuses to come. I was up in the spare room with the lights off. It was late. San Diego was quiet. The rest of the house was asleep.
Life had started to go well, and on that particular night it suddenly felt insufficient. I sat in the dark and felt, with a clarity I can only describe as the weight of a whisper, that what I had been building was not actually for me.
The thought was not elaborate. It was this: there are pastors who have given everything to the Kingdom, and no one is taking care of their tomorrow. That was the whole thing. One thought, in the dark. Like a seed dropped into soil that immediately begins to grow.
The Rooms I Have Been In.
Between the ages of three and six I lived in adoption homes. I know what it is to be a child waiting for a door to open, and I know the particular courage of the people who open one. Our wider family has also known the years where early trauma and addiction take hold, and has walked that road one ordinary morning at a time.
So when you read the focus areas on this site, understand that they are not a list I researched. Foster and adoption homes, sober living and recovery, the people who fall through the cracks: those are rooms I have stood in. I wanted to give to those rooms in a way that would outlast my own good seasons.
The Pastor Nobody Talks About.
A man gives thirty years to a congregation. He counsels marriages back from the brink, buries the grieving, and builds a community of faith from nothing. At sixty-two he cannot retire. He works weekends. His wife worries about the mortgage. He cannot give to the ministry he built.
This is not an edge case. It is more common than most congregations know. The people who discipled everyone else are usually the last to ask for anything, and a circle that grows real generosity should remember them before it remembers itself.
For every pastor who has served thirty years without anyone stewarding their tomorrow. For every shepherd who answered the call without a safety net. For every ministry leader who gave everything to the Kingdom. This circle gives with you in mind. And for the God who plants seeds in unlikely hands.Adapted from the dedication of Seeds of the Kingdom, February 2026
Why a Circle, and Not a Charity I Run.
A single household gives what it can and then life happens. A circle keeps giving, because the gift was never carried by one person. And a calling is not enough without the discipline to build it right. The vision was never the problem. The sequence was.
That is why the Foundation gives through a donor-advised fund and not an organization I control. The money is held by people whose whole job is to hold it well. The decisions are made together: you nominate, the committee digs in and brings a slate, the circle blesses it, the fund sends the grants. Nobody routes their own gift to their own cause, me included. And the results are whatever the fund statement says they are, and nothing more.
Do it right, and in the right order. I wrote that rule for myself before I wrote it for anyone else, and it governs this site the same way it governs the circle.
To the People Who Were Here First.
To the supporters who took part in this journey long before any of it was obvious, who gave time, counsel, connections and belief, and who held me to a professional standard when I would have settled for less: thank you. The circle would not be standing here without you. You are the first members, whether or not you ever fill in a form.
Pull up a chair. Nominate the work you already believe in. Bless the slate with us. Come to the gathering. That is the whole invitation, and it is open.
Evan Adolfo Estremera
Founder, San Diego