A Worthy Inheritance
NIKKI BONHAM | GUEST “If the Lord takes me before I’m old, I hope that our boys will still carry with them a love for old hymns, good books, adoption, missions, the beauty of marriage, and a delight in God’s Word. At least those things,” I said to my husband as we sat under the twinkly lights on our patio. He sat silent for a moment, thoughtful. “I think that’s a worthy inheritance,” he replied. A Significant Heritage We were fresh off a trip back to the US for my father’s funeral after his unexpected and sudden passing, and these types of conversations were frequent. My dad had died young at the age of 63, and only 10 days before I was due to see him again. When you live a continent away, those 10 days are a hard pill to swallow, and I was still deep in processing all the fresh grief. Heavier pieces of it would come in waves, and one of the bigger ones that kept rolling in and out of my mind was the idea of heritage. What are the pieces of him that I have inherited, that I carry on and pass along to my children? How did my father’s influence mark me as his daughter? What are the values and preferences that he unknowingly formed in me as he loved me for all those years? What do I love, just because he also loved it? Just because he loved me? The significance of that heritage grows even deeper as I consider that he wasn’t my biological father; I don’t carry his blood in my veins, but I have carried his name and the privilege of being called his daughter for all but the first few years of my life. Through the way the Lord shaped the very structure of my family, He built a gospel image around me for me to live in. After he died, I sat in his closet, surrounded by all his things, and carefully chose small mementos that I could pack inside my suitcase to take back to Colombia with me. I looked at each little knick-knack on his dresser, the same ones that were there from when I was a little girl, and I remembered the stories tied to them. Most of them came from his own father and grandfather. They were stories that I was grafted into, a heritage and shared history that somehow became fully mine....